


What Comes Around

by SapphireInTheSky



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireInTheSky/pseuds/SapphireInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crammed back into a high-security prison was not how the Suicide Squad had intended it to end. When forced into serving those endless days and sleepless nights all over again, one member of the squad decides to break out of the old routine. Literally. </p><p>Though he hadn't known it, he'd just pulled the last straw. Now Waller finally had a reason to initiate Operation Alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS (obviously). For the sake of making things easier, all main characters from the movie are alive and residing in a single prison during the course of this plot. Basically, Diablo isn't dead, Harley wasn't rescued by Joker and everyone is within at least a prison block of one another. I'm not sure how much relevance this will have but I'd like to keep my options open and not lead to any confusion. That behind us, this story will focus on Boomerang simply because he is my favourite character but will include mass interaction with all the other members at one point or another. I hope you like it!

“OI! I KNOW YER OUT THERE!”

The guard rolled his eyes and shook his head, ignoring the convict’s barb.

Captain Boomerang had never been the quiet type.

He hadn’t been the quiet type for approximately three hours now, not including the past two months. Needless to say, he was starting to get on the guard’s nerves.

“YA’D BETTER OPEN UP ‘FORE I KICK THIS DOOR DOWN!” he threatened, slamming a fist into the reinforced cell door.

The guard sighed, “Shut up or I’ll shut you up” he warned.

There was a whistle from inside the cell, then a hearty laugh.

“Oooooh? Is that so?” Boomerang mocked.

The guard briefly checked his belt for the loaded taser he’d inevitably need. The radio was working the last time he’d checked it.

He remained mute as Boomerang slammed against the door suddenly. The guard refused to flinch; already accustomed to the inmate’s frequent outbursts.

“ANSWER ME!” Boomerang growled, angered by the lack of response.

The guard let out a sigh. Apparently, it was going to be one of those days.

“Requesting backup to Prison Block E, solitary confinement cell 7” he reported, voice coloured with exasperation.

“Ah, a surprise party!” Boomerang jeered, “Always love one-a those!”

Grating his teeth together, the guard twisted to face the door, then, opened the shutter, “I’m gonna enjoy putting you in your place today, Harkness” he hissed.

 _Pretenses be damned, he’d put up with enough of Harkness’s bullshit to last a_ lifetime _. It was time to let off a little steam._

From inside the cell, Boomerang struck a pose; cocking his head to the side as he bit his finger in a coy manner, “Have I bin’ naughty, officer?” he taunted.

The guard gave an ominous smile before shutting the slot and turning back to his post.

“Just you wait” he hummed to himself, “Just you wait…”

* * *

 

“We’ll move on: One, two-”

“WAIT!”

The leading guard froze one millisecond before unlocking the cell; his grey eyes darting back to his second in command.

“Did you bring the sedatives?” the man inquired.

The leading guard delivered a stare that seemed to question the intelligence of the second man, incredulous as to the sincerity behind those words.

“Of _course_ , I brought the meds” he answered finally, “-D’ya think I’m suicidal?”

The second guard shuffled awkwardly, “Just checkin’” was his only reply.

With a roll of his eyes, the leader turned back to the rest of his men, “Are we ready?”

The remaining guards gave a unanimous nod, facial gear and combat jackets disguising their true countenance in the face of danger.

That said, no amount of layers or black balaclavas could fully disguise the tension hanging in the air.

“Wha’s the holdup?” Boomerang demanded.

With a sneer, the leader poised the key back over the locking mechanism; the camera to his right watching every move in order to sanction the dead bolt release, simultaneously.  

“On my count. One…two….THREE!”

After turning the key and removing the bolts, the slew of prison guards poured into the cell; batons raised and tasers firing.

But what they hadn’t considered was the craftiness of Boomerang himself.

With plenty of time to spare, the convict had developed a 90-fold plan on how to best address an attack coming through the one entry way to his cell.

Whether that was through hiding beneath his bunk, behind the door, the toilet or precariously shimmying up both walls to hang above the floor, proved his willingness to ‘be creative.’

Plus, the layout changed every time.

Not that the guards were aware of it…

And so, having filed into the cell and stopping abruptly in its desolate center, the guards suddenly found themselves trapped.

Dropping down from the metal grated light fixture above the door, Boomerang quickly dropped to a knee and delivered a bone shattered crunch to the last guard’s kidney; dropping the guy with a pained scream.

Before the second man could twist around to meet his foe, Boomerang leapt up and caught him at the midsection, driving the guard -and all others in front- into the back wall of the cell.

As limbs caught up in batons and tasers fired away, Boomerang finally stepped back.

He offered a bonus kick to the groin of the guard who had happily called in the backup squad, grinning down with as much malice as he could muster.

The guard curled into himself with a satisfying howl of pain.

As one brave -or perhaps stupid- guard chose to get up, Boomerang shot out a fist and landed a solid blow to the man’s jaw. He was out before he knew what hit him.

Snatching up the keys and card passes from the belt of one man while obtaining a particularly nasty needle and baton from another, Boomerang quickly packed the equipment onto his orange jumpsuit up and assessed the situation.

_Five v one. Now that was sad._

_But, hey, it was a victory for him, so who cares?_

Needing to gloat as much, Boomerang spat on one man’s sleeve as he backed towards the door, a grin plastered to his face.

“How’s tha’ for a party?” Boomerang chuckled, happily removing himself from the cell and slamming it shut behind him.

Clapping his hands together, as one would after a productive day of spring cleaning, Boomerang turned on his heel and jogged along the solitary cells with a bounce in his step.

Of course, he was still fully aware of the camera watching his back. It wasn’t like he had reached freedom yet…more like he had just used the toilet and had yet to go downstairs for breakfast.

Or something like that…

As Boomerang reached the end of the hall, he slipped the card out of his belt and swiped it through the detector.

A green light flashed, allowing the convict entry to the next corridor.

 _Good…they hadn’t managed to lock it down yet,_ Boomerang mused.

With a buzz, the barred door swung open and the convict slid through. With a growing speed fit for the guilty man, Boomerang increased his pace towards the next door, and then the next.

A few hollers from fellow inmates began to call at his back, urging him on or spitting with jealousy.

It was after a flight of stairs and three more doors that an alarm began to blare through the loudspeakers.

“Well, shit” Boomerang muttered, looking left and right before dodging down another identical row of cells.

The thrum of boots on metal echoed from somewhere in the distance, pricking at the convict’s heart and weighing his gut down with familiar dread.

He hoped to God someone tripped down the stairs or caught their finger in a lock or slipped on a banana peel. Hell, he’d even pray on a coincidental case of diarrhea if that’s what it took to get them off his tail.

If they managed to catch him this time, the end result would not be good. He doubted they’d have the patience to be so kind after the ruckus he’d caused…

Another left, another right, two blocks ahead, one flight down, another hall. So many doors. So many voices. Too many jumbled memories.

_He needed to get out of here!_

_Perhaps if he hid, he would have more time to plan an escape._

_But where?_

_Quin?_

_No…she was in solitary. That was both impossible and pointless._

_Croc?_

_Nope. Too far down. Plus the guy smelt of rotten fish…_

_The pyromaniac Mexican? What was his name? Torch McGee? Diablo? Whatever…_

He supposed he could…but then again, the guy would more likely offer him some wise words and self-reflection before turning him over to the guards.

So that left daddy dead-shot.

_Awesome._

Boomerang ran up another flight of stairs, this time making sure to whirl a baton at the remaining security camera tracking his footage.

At least if they lost his path for a few hallways, he’d be able to evade them long enough to hide.

Another hallway, another broken camera.

It then occurred to him that the broken cameras would string them straight to his hiding place.

Oh well, not like he could go back now. Hopefully, they’d remain dumb as ever and not notice.

A few more manual escalators later and Boomerang finally reached the block he’d been searching for. The voices were closer now too, but not so much that anyone could see him.

Racing along to the furthest cell on the right, Boomerang slammed on the brakes and desperately picked the lock to Deadshot’s cell.

It was loud enough to rouse the hitman from his sleep.

He practically flew out of bed and braced himself against the back wall as Boomerang swung the cell door open.

“Shaddap an’ sit down. Yer havin’ a sleepover” Boomerang informed, hastily barring the cell from the inside and dropping to the floor by Deadshot’s bed.

Rolling under the bunk with ease, Boomerang brought himself to a halt with a shaky sigh, “Don’ tell anyone” he ordered.

Deadshot still hadn’t moved from his place by the wall; the look on his face suggesting he didn’t know how to process the intrusion. Yet.

“Now hold on a god damn minute-” Deadshot broke out angrily, charging forwards towards the bed and dropping on his hands and knees.

“Who said I have’ta put up with yo stinkin' ass under my pillow?” he complained.

Boomerang merely grimaced as he fought to breathe. _To hell with it, let the old man rant…_

And rant he did.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is _my_ cell” Deadshot pointed out, “An’ I don’t take kindly to crusty kleptomaniacs bargin’ in on ma down time”

_Maybe Deadshot’s crib had been the wrong decision after all…_

The loud din of boots combined with angry male voices grew louder down the hall.

_Or maybe it had been the right decision._

_Either way, his efforts wouldn’t be worth much if ‘Head-spot’ didn’t shut the hell up._

“Give a guy a break” Boomerang whispered frantically, lungs still heaving from the exercise, “I ain’t havin’ the best day…”

Deadshot almost face-planted at that particular statement.

But his attitude never failed him.

In fact, it seemed to double his efforts.

“Oh, _you’re_ havin’ a bad day!? Try dealin with a failed test from fifth-grade algebra! How about talking to a grumpy ten-year-old, huh? An’ don’t even get me started on the medical check I had to get from you know who. So don’t give me none-o-tha-“ Deadshot snapped.

“Can it, will ya? They’ll find me if ya don’t stop yappin” Boomerang pleaded, though his body language threatened to do more than just begging.

“I hear some noise over there!” a guard yelled.

Deadshot looked back over his shoulder, then, back to the eyes of his former comrade. It didn’t take long for him to make up his mind.

“Ughhhh-“

The guard forced his run to a stop as he glanced into Deadshot’s cell, only to find the man himself, on his hands and knees, groaning.

“What’s going on in there?” the guard demanded.

Deadshot took his sweet time in meeting the man’s gaze.

“Can’t you tell when a brother’s sick? Damn, a lil’ privacy would be nice” Deadshot glared, clutching at his stomach.

The guard levered a suspicious eyebrow, leaning towards the cell bars to get a better glimpse around the cell.

“Oh man, what did you put in that new recipe? Horse manure?” Deadshot moaned, gagging once for full effect.

Lip curling in disgust, the guard backed away, “S’what you lot get for-“

“I ain’t got time for none-o-yo shit. You’ve got nothin’ on me here, so get lost” Deadshot ordered.

The guard looked startled by the reversed roles, despite the convict being stuck behind bars and lowered to a pitifully low position.

“Yeah, well-“

“Scram or I’ll scoop your eyeballs out an’ send em to your mama back in Brooklyn” Deadshot promised.

The guard noticeably stuttered this time, “But how did you know I live in-“

“McGall!” a second voice shouted.

The young guard immediately spun on the spot, turning to what Deadshot assumed, was his superior officer.

“Sir?”

“Quit your jabbering, boy, and get over here. We’ve got an escaped convict on the loose in case you’ve forgotten” the officer berated.

“Yes, sir!” McGall nodded, racing away to fulfil his duty.

After the din died down and Deadshot could no longer hear any telltale signs of hidden guards, he slowly picked himself up off his knees.

“'Kay. You can come out now” he addressed his mattress.

“I’m fine here” Boomerang drawled.

“NOW” Deadshot repeated.

“Okay, okay..” Boomerang surrendered, rolling out from the bed and rising to meet his ‘sort-of,’ ‘perhaps’ brother-in-arms.

“Guess what we’re gonna discuss during our lil' slumber party?” Deadshot began, slumping back down on his bed as he pointed to the far wall.

Obediently, Boomerang sat in the far corner, “Guest manners?”

Deadshot gave Boomerang a flat stare.

“Not even close…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely support! Here's the next chapter :)

“So you’re tellin' me you didn’t bother to plan ahead?” Deadshot asked incredulously.

“Nope” Boomerang replied, scratching idly at the stubble on his chin.

“Even with all that free time you’ve had in solitary…” Deadshot marveled.

“Hey! I took wha’ I could get” Boomerang grated, “S'not like I was ‘specting to 'scape so easily”

Deadshot scoffed, running a hand over his scalp, as was customary whenever he felt strung out by what he was experiencing.

“Talk ‘bout havin’ your work cut out for ya… Jeez” Deadshot droned, letting his eyes slip closed.

Boomerang scowled, not appreciating the lack of enthusiasm his host was having towards his brilliant prison break measures.

“So, ya just gonna sleep on it then?” Boomerang interrupted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah” Deadshot shrugged.

“An’ wha’ if they come back?”

“Not my problem” Deadshot noted, laying down now.

“I’m in yer cell. I’m yer problem” Boomerang insisted.

“Nah. You _broke_ _into_ my cell. I helped you once, now it’s up to you. I ain’t yo charity bank” Deadshot finalized.

Flopping his arms onto his knees, Boomerang bowed his head and let out a sigh, “Well…. thanks anyway, mate”

“I ain’t ya ‘mate’” Deadshot grumbled.

“Buddy?” Boomerang suggested.

“Hell no”

“Lieutenant?”

Deadshot frowned, then rolled over to face the man, “What?”

“Well, _I’m_ the Captain…”

“You’re an idiot…s’what you are” Deadshot grumbled, rolling back over.

There was a pause of silence.

“Fine. Be an arse” Boomerang snorted, resting his head on his knees.

Silence rolled over the duo until Deadshot’s conscience could no longer allow sleep.

“Yo welcome…” Deadshot relented.

Boomerang glanced up, not entirely sure if the hitman had spoken or if he was just hearing things again.

“You say somethin?”

“Nope”

Boomerang scoffed, laying his head back down, “Yeah….right”

The silence continued, this time at a more comfortable pace.

The clanking of guard’s boots on other floors of the prison still echoed through the pipes and down the halls, a constant reminder that sleep would be fleeting.

“I’ll see you in the mornin’ then” Deadshot announced, turning over.

“’Suppose…” Boomerang consented, getting comfortable against the wall.

Even if they did find him before breakfast, at least the little run around had been nice. The change in scenery would be enough to occupy his mind for a while back in solitary.

On the other hand, if he did manage to get out, it’d make one hell of a story.

He was too tired to care otherwise.

Let’s just say that was his first mistake…on top of the initial break out, of course.

* * *

 

It was the sharp pinch at his neck that woke Boomerang from his snoring slumber.

Within seconds, he was up and snarling, eyes hardly reading the new setting around him.

Just a lot of men in black hovering behind the bars.

Enemies.

There was a dude chilling on the bed to his right but he was fairly sure that wasn’t important.

Reaching up, Boomerang ripped the sharp tic tac from his neck and whipped it at the floor, crushing it under his boot.

Before he could even crack his knuckles together, another sharp pinch registered in his left shoulder.

Another green vile embedded in his skin.

Boomerang let out an angry roar, rushing the bars in his newly drunken daze.

Instinctively, the guards leaped backward, far out of reach from the convict’s swiping claws.

“YOU WANNA FIGHT? I’LL GIVE YOU A FIGHT!” He growled, a mad glint in his eyes.

The leading guard gave a confident sneer, “Look boys, we found the resident gorilla! Told ya we would”

Boomerang slammed a fist against the bars, not seeming at all phased by the skin it tore from his hand.

“Yeah? Well, this gorilla’s gonna rip you in ‘alf” Boomerang promised, looking through his brow darkly.

“Not for long you won’t” one guard smirked.

_Not for long? So, just for a little while then?_

“All I’m aft’a is a lil’ nibble, gov. I’ll let ya keep the left ear. Call me gen’rous. Ya only need one, right?” Boomerang chuckled, an eyebrow raised.

The guard’s face scrunched up, realizing his error. He backed off and cast his eyes down, a blush overcoming his cheeks.

The lead guard rolled his eyes, flipping a taser out from his belt and crackling it against the bars.

Boomerang flew back, the charge having propelled him to a safer distance.

Though a little whisp of smoke curled up from his head, the convict otherwise appeared fine. He rolled his neck, cracking the vertebrae menacingly before letting out a scream and charging at the bars again.

Naturally, the guard's hung back, safe from harm but visibly shaken by the mad man’s crazy animal drive.

“You wanna ‘splain what’s goin on here?” Deadshot rambled, leaning back from the fight with an air of nonchalance.

“You’re boy, here, is outta bounds-“ the guard pointed out, “-In case you hadn’t noticed…”

Boomerang spat at the man, smiling as a glob of saliva ran down his kevlar jacket.

“Come in an’ get him then” Deadshot invited, an easy smile on his face.

Boomerang backed off from the bars, clearly agreeing with Deadshot’s idea.

“Come on, ya pansy. Let’s have a dance. Just you an’ I”

The guard lopped his head to the side, as if considering it, then nodded with a slight shrug.

“Why not?”

The other guards frowned at the idea, one man even tapping the leader on the shoulder as if to have a word in private. Something along the lines of stupid ideas.

But the guard was having none of it.

“It’s been a while since I last saw you in person, Harkness” he began, stretching the gloves on his hands as one man prepared to open the cell door.

“Been a while since I saw yo missus, too” Boomerang winked, shaking out his arms.

The world may be sliding sideways but he was always up for a good, old fashioned rumble. Especially when it was with the dog-faced coward who put him in solitary.

The door latch clicked as the guard turned the key, allowing the bolt to slide open and the door to open.

With a smile, the challenger walked in.

“Any last words?” Boomerang offered.

“Bite me”

Deadshot winced in foresight.

The guard was obviously an idiot.

“Okay” Boomerang agreed, lunging for the guard.

With a twist to the side, the guard by-passed Boomerang’s initial charge, using the convict’s momentum to follow him back out through the open cell door and pile on top.

As Boomerang fell down under the weight on his back, he twisted around and pried the man's head to his teeth. He managed a clamp down a reasonable size of ear lobe before the guard ripped himself away.

One ear, check!

Blood began to rain down from above; the owner of said body part letting out a screech of agony as he clutched at his head.

Boomerang delivered a bloody grin to the retreating form before he was wrestled back to his stomach by the remaining guards.

One man might have left the party, but his friends were still there to take his place.

While one guard stomped down on Boomerang’s left hand, distracting him, another guard proceeded to place a knee on the convict’s back, pinning his torso down while snatching his right arm behind his back.

Two men simultaneously secured a leg each while the final, bloodied man returned, knelt down, and jabbed a loaded syringe deep into the back of Boomerang’s neck.

"How's that feel, bitch?" the one-eared guard hissed.

With a violent curse, Boomerang began to buck and heave under the pressure of five men. He even managed to throw one against the nearby bars, stunning him enough to get his right leg free.

Unfortunately, the convict was fighting an uphill battle.

Deadshot could only watch as his fellow squad member wrestled the army of guards in vain.

It wasn’t like he could help the guy. He had a prison sentence of his own to deal with. Helping a twice escaped convict beat down a bunch of guards in front of his cell wouldn’t go down well with Waller.

So he sat there. And watched.

Hell, he even offered combat advice to anyone who would listen.

It wasn’t like he was the good guy.

As time wore on, Boomerang’s effort to escape began to dwindle; the mass of sedatives now running through his veins having done their job to tame the beast.

As if to prove his victory, the bloodied guard gripped a hold of Boomerang’s messy hair and slammed his head to the ground, holding it there as he got up in the man’s face.

“ _This_ -“ the guard sneered, “-is just the beginning, Harkness. This pain you feel now, this defeat, it’s about to get a whole lot worse”

Boomerang spat at the man’s face, receiving an elbow the kidney for his efforts. He had no energy left to inflict more damage.

Already his arms were going numb, his mind drawing a blank.

Eyes beginning to roll as a fuzzy warmth overtook his senses, Boomerang let go of his _mission_ and sprawled out limply on the concrete.

The vengeful guard took this opportunity as a perfect time to kick the convict in the ribs.

Boomerang wheezed in pain, unable to curl up thanks to his motionless state.

Deadshot frowned. There was no need to kick a guy while he was down.

Neither was chowing down on a man's ear, but he could only be loyal to one, not the other.

This wasn't right.

He stated as much.

“No one asked you” the guard spat, slamming the cell door shut.

Deadshot frowned again, trying not to take the insult personally.

So he aimed for an innocent question instead.

“Whatchu gon’ do with him now?” Deadshot inquired, watching as the men roughly dragged Boomerang up and carried him down the hallway.

“Whatever I damn well please” the guard leered, spitting a glob of blood onto the cement before stalking after his prize.

Deadshot shook his head and lay back against the wall.

He didn’t feel much of a connection to the guy.

Boomerang hadn’t exactly shone during the worldly crisis a month back, and his sense of humor was anything but funny.

But he’d still done his part.

Had offered a hand when they’d needed it. Had tried to keep them in the spirit of killing when dying felt like the only option.

And, they lived by the same criminal code; one born of respect.

Sure, Boomerang was more than a little fucked in the head. Sure, he was a crazy motherfucker with a temper to rival the crocodile downstairs. But in a fight, he’d had his back.

And so, on this premise, Deadshot found himself sympathizing with the nutty Australian. ‘Praying for his safety’ would be a downright lie, he didn’t care that much. He also didn’t pray.

But he _did_ hope the idiot wouldn’t reap too harsh a punishment for his little field trip.

Or in the very least, came back with his head attached.

Boy, had he ever underestimated the prison system.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to those who have reviewed, left kudos and/or bookmarked. You guys are my motivation! Enjoy!

Boomerang woke up in the usual, classy way.

Drooling against his restraints with a half-smile plastered onto his face. The throbbing headache was just a bonus.

Flickering his eyes open, Boomerang waited for his sights to settle on the dimly lit room he now found himself in.

It was cool -and not in the awesome sense. The temperature suggested that he’d been dragged into the basement; the darkness attesting to that.

He supposed they could’ve put more lighting in here.

It wasn’t like they lived in the stone age. They _did_ have electricity.

As if on cue, a surge of electricity crackled along the loose wiring tangled up in the pipes over his head. But it didn’t end there.

Before he could note exactly where the wires led to, a wave of lightening overcame his body, forcing his muscles to constrict and his face to contort.

Though the episode lasted no more than ten seconds, by the time it had ended, Boomerang felt like he’d ran a marathon.

Lungs heaving, heart pumping and eyes darting, the convict lay back against his restraints and took a moment to curse modern science.

“Fuck you” he wheezed, hoping that someone had heard it.

Someone did.

“And good morning to you too, Mr. Harkness” a husky female voice droned.

Boomerang clenched his teeth together, eyes finding the blinking red light atop the camera in the far corner. On some level, he knew she’d been behind this. Both literally and figuratively.

“Choke on a biscuit, would ya” Boomerang growled, straining his wrists against the reinforced straps.

There was an amused chuckle from the speaker, then a casual reply.

“Let’s not play games-” Waller began.

“No. Let’s” Boomerang interrupted, eyes flashing dangerously.

Waller paused, “I doubt you’d like the games I have in mind”

Boomerang managed a light smirk, “Back at ya, darlin’”

There was a sigh of impatience, “Enough. You are here for one reason and one reason only”

Boomerang tilted his head at the camera, eyes twinkling.

“I wouldn’t say _one_ reason. There’s about a million reasons I can think o-”

A second jolt had the convict gasping for air. He sent a scathing glare at the camera.

“Do be quiet, Mr. Harkness. I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time for idle chit chat”

“Ain’t no business like your _business_. Yer on a bloody power trip, lady” Boomerang commented.

At this, the deadbolt in the door to his left let out a loud scraping noise, followed by the eerie screeching of metal as the door swung open.

The silhouette that stepped out from the light revealed a short, squat woman with an expression that read 'fuck with me and you're dead.'

 _Waller_.

“Crikey, ya came to visit me aft’a all!” Boomerang beamed, “-An’ I thought you was scared-a lil’ ol’ me”

Waller silently stepped up to the metal bed and idly scraped a fingernail down the length of the convict’s cheek.

She gazed into his eyes, burning her blacks into his blues. The unblinking stare began to make Boomerang feel uncomfortable.

He tried not to let his emotion show, but it was hard not to react given that the psycho lady was a foot from his face and he couldn’t defend himself.

“Ya wanna portrait or somethin?” he jested, craning his head back as far back as he could.

Waller snapped out of her trance, “I’d like your head on a stick, if I’m being honest…”

Boomerang swallowed.

“-But… since I can’t do that, your obedience will have to do”

Now it was Boomerang’s turn to act mental.

He laughed. Long and loud. 

A heartfelt cacophony of high-pitched giggles echoing around the bleak, 10x10 stone cell.

A tear of pure hysteria almost escaped his left eye, it was _that_ funny. Even his ribs were on fire.

_Obedient!? Him? Ha!_

_Where did she even get these ideas?_

_Their first mission as a squad had barely functioned, let alone succeeded!_

And even when it did, what did he get for it?

Nada. 

The fact that she’d valued his contributions with so little regard that he would reap nothing but a glorified, solitary cell in which to go mad in proven her worth as a scum bag.

He still wasn't over the betrayal.

Saved the world and everything.

But no rewards. No windows to witness the lives he’d saved -or at least see daylight. He didn't even have toilet paper! (now that was just cruel).

So he definitely wasn’t gonna do shit for her.

“Ah…” Boomerang sighed, winding down, “Yer ‘bout as crazy as Quin, ya know that?” he complimented, an honest grin on his face.

He’d needed that. Hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.

_Oh, Waller. A joker in her own right._

“Are you done?” Waller grated, fingers clutching tightly around a small box.

Boomerang’s eyes flitted down to her occupied hand, then gave her an uneasy stare, “Ya brought me a present?”

“Just a little something I thought you’d like” Waller replied vaguely, setting the box down in Boomerang’s lap.

He couldn’t reach it. Couldn’t open it. Could only stare at its outward complexion.

It was a silver-grey colour, square in shape and about the size of a pack of gum.

“Wha’s in it?”

“The key to unlocking your mind” Waller stated.

Boomerang’s brow scrunched together in confusion, “Say wha?”

A sudden knock sounded at the door, making Boomerang jump.

The small box would have fallen if not for Waller’s quick reflexes. She set it back down on the convict’s stomach, allowing it to taunt him.

“Time to go” she noted, turning on the spot.

Boomerang’s frown deepened.

_Waller was being too nice. She’d even given him a mysterious present._

_She hadn’t told him why he was here or what was going to happen._

It was alarming.

“OI!” Boomerang called after her, “Wha’s goin’ on?”  

But Waller didn’t stop. She walked straight out the door without so much as a single word.

_She didn’t even say goodbye!_

As if to fill her absence, three men in white coats filed into the room, one after another. One brought a large trolley with instruments, the second held a box with wiring and the third carried a pink, fluffy unicorn.

Boomerang tried to settle his nerves.

_He was supposed to be the unpredictable one...not them._

Something was definitely going on... and he didn’t like it.

“You lads here to help me outta these straps?” Boomerang attempted.

The men remained silent, each one focused on setting up their equipment. The third man simply lay the unicorn down within Boomerang’s sight, then moved over to the bed.

He next picked up the box on Boomerang’s stomach, pointedly turning his body on the spot before he opened it, ensuring that convict would not see what had been inside.

_The bastard._

Strain as he might, Boomerang couldn’t see the contents.

“Get yer grubby mitts off my present!” Boomerang ordered, strangely possessive of the unknown object.

But the man didn’t listen. Instead, he took a small shady _something_ out from the box and inserted it into a canister.

This canister then clipped into a shorter, opaque tube which slotted nicely within an unprepared needle casing.

Boomerang’s eyes widened, “Neva mind, mate. You can keep it…”

But the man wasn’t listening. The beep of a machine whirring to life had Boomerang scanning back to the second scientist.

The beep of a machine, whirring to life, had Boomerang scanning back to the second scientist.

He’d been the one with the box of wires.

By now, he’d untangled the rat’s nest of reds, greens and blues and inserted each individual wire into its corresponding socket. From there, the wires diverted to the posts of his aluminum bed.

_Not good._

The metal clamps protruding from each wire's end met up with the restraints strapping down his body, allowing for maximum overdrive. Which was just fantastic. A few plastic sensors were also applied to various areas of his chest, arms and face, sticking to hairy hide like unwanted velcro.

Add to this, the plastic sensors dotted along various areas of his chest, arms and face and you'd find yourself looking at a very unfortunate victim of pin the sticker on the convict.

Talking about sticky, the stupid sensors were sticking to hairy hide like unwanted velcro. They'd be a bitch to get off. If nothing else, he would get revenge for that crime alone.

Finally, to top it all off, a heart monitor was strapped onto his finger. Yay!

The first man was still rifling around in the assortment of silver cutlery.

 _Hopefully, he’d never find what he was looking for,_ he mused.

“Uh…mind if I go for a quick potty break, fellas?” Boomerang wavered, inwardly struggling to keep his cool.

“The more you talk, the more this will hurt” the first man said, plucking up a scalpel before turning to face the convict.

It was like a storm had washed away all traces of worry from his being.

Instantly, Boomerang's expression clouded over; his eyes narrowing into slits as he bared his teeth in a sinister manner.

“Poke me with tha’ an’ I’ll rip yer bloody throat out” Boomerang warned, shoulder’s stiffening in a quiet rage.

The men smiled simultaneously.

Another violent shock was delivered.

“You _will_ comply. If you do not, you will never return to your cell” one man vowed, black eyes boring into Boomerang’s flaming ones.

“S’not like I wanna go back” he growled, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling in defiance.

The man with the loaded syringe crossed over to his bed next, a smile on his face, “Then you won’t mind if we give you a little medicine to make you comfortable during your prolonged stay…”

“Wait. Tha’s not what I-“

The injection was in and out in a matter of seconds; the dark, swirling contents having emptied into Boomerang’s blood stream before he could formulate a protest worth stating.

 “Son of a bitch” Boomerang snarled, yanking his head away, despite it being pointless.

The man stepped back as another stepped forward. This time, it was the one with the scalpel. He waited patiently as the third man moved in with a thick leather belt; wedging it between Boomerang’s teeth to silence any further conversation.

That wouldn’t stop the muffled screams.

Just as 'Mr.Knife Guy' chose to impose on Boomerang's personal space, a voice crackled over the radio.

“Is the operation underway, Foster?” Waller demanded.

“We are just about to begin, Madam” Foster replied, stonily, turning back to his patient.

Boomerang gave the lunatic a wild stare and struggled more intensely against his bonds.

“Good. Alert me when phase one is complete. I want to observe each stage of the transformation and note any side effects before we branch out to the remaining subjects…”

Foster nodded even though Waller couldn’t see it.

“Harkness has just received the first dose, Madam. He should be exerting symptoms within the next few minutes. I predict his body will bond with the serum within an hour or so. Then, we can admit the second dose. I will notify you before each occurrence” Foster assured, keeping it professional.

Boomerang roared a curse beneath the leather strap, straining his arms and legs against the restraints until his appendages were raw.

He wasn’t gonna go down like this.

_This was sad._

_This was piteous._

_This was a tragedy_.

He’d robbed 98 banks back home. No casualties. He’d tangled with the worst of the worst in seven different prisons, and lived to tell about it. Hell, he'd partaken in 'world-saving' and _still_ made it out alive.

Strapped down to a bed with three funky dudes in some old lady's basement was _not_ the way he was gonna call it quits.

Sure, it wasn’t like he could do otherwise. But at least he was protesting, mentally…

Ignorant towards his inner monologue, a strange tickling sensation began to gnaw its way into Boomerang’s mind. The heart monitor clipped to his finger spiked accordingly at the intrusion, alerting the men to the advancing stage.

Boomerang glared at them each in turn.

They merely smiled back at him.

The gnawing sensation grew stronger, forcing Boomerang to concentrate inwards.

It felt like an itch at the back of his eye sockets. One he couldn't scratch. Ever.

A certain charge of static was building up behind that.

He could feel his brain signing offline, section by section. Like the check-out tills at a super market before it closed.

Boomerang laughed weakly.

At least he still had a sense of humor.

Sadly, that too, would soon depart.

Defeated in all the ways that counted, Boomerang closed his eyes and tried to focus on the ass-kicking he'd be doing when they decided to take the restraints off.

He didn't get far in the planning stages.

Whether he liked it or not, his brain was fried.

Whatever was in that box...whatever they'd put in that syringe...

Boomerang sighed.

It was all over now.

That’s when he passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to all supporting me throughout this story!!! I can't express how much your kind words positively impact my work...Well, I could, but I reckon you'd rather read a long-ass chapter than a long-ass rant. Anyway... I hope this chapter expresses my thanks, in a twisted, strange sort-a way ;) Enjoy!

When you were part of the team who kicked an ancient witch’s ass and saved the world in the process, special privileges were in order.

Prison sentences be damned.

And so, for the Suicide Squad, that privilege consisted of a team get-together during cafeteria break. Of course, this kind of luxury couldn’t be a daily occurrence, based on the dangers and expenses associated with such a task…but, for one glorious Tuesday, every week, it was no problem.

On _that_ Tuesday, a private room would be set up and furnished with proper, comfortable furniture, tolerable lighting and endless supplies of food. Guards would become butlers for the day while convicts became royals.

There was even silver cutlery and porcelain plates.

It was a ‘satisfaction guaranteed’ kinda deal.

Of course, there were still locked doors and metal detectors to prevent anyone from running away or stealing valuables/knives (cough cough, Boomerang, cough cough) but in the mean-time, they were allowed to use them.

And the best part was, it didn’t smell like shit.

When you lived in a prison, the lack of foul smelling things was actually a big deal.

So basically, this privilege was equal to Heaven inside Hell.

But only on Tuesdays.

Deadshot rolled his shoulders in anticipation, a big grin on his face as the guards slid open the cage door to his cell.

“Quit bein’ so happy” one particularly grumpy guard snapped.

“You’re jus’ jealous cuz I get pecan pie and you don’t” Deadshot beamed, practically bouncing out of his cell.

“Jealous, my ass” the guard growled, slamming the cage shut.

Deadshot shrugged. He didn’t care. As long as he got that pecan pie.

For once, he was strolling down the strip rather than shuffling.

He was a man on a mission, and hot damn, if he didn’t get there bang on time.

* * *

 

After rounding up Diablo, Croc and Quin, the four desperados headed to the best room in the prison.

_The Lounge._

Or so they had dubbed it.

A cell door buzzed as ‘the lounge’ was unlocked. The guard responsible received an almighty hug from Quin, a smile from Deadshot, a nod from Diablo and a, presumably grateful growl, from croc.

The guard kept his head down, unsure of how exactly he should process mixed reviews or how to treat the prisoner/guests. It was probably best just to stay quiet…

So he did.

The sober response didn’t dampen the squad’s mood in the slightest.

“So I wuz sayin, right, if ya gonna make a mean stew, at least throw in rat or somethin’” Harley Quin gossiped, fingers still twirling in her ponytail as she marched through the barred gate.

The squad followed her lead, nodding, somewhat absently, as they agreed to whatever ludicrous line of thought she was referring to this time.

“I guess some people just don’t know how-ta eat, am I right?” Harley jawed, picking a chair, swiveling it around and sitting with her legs splayed like a cowboy.

Her eyes were still twinkling in that unnervingly creepy way. Not that Deadshot was gonna say anything.

He only had eyes for pie.

Harley could talk all she wanted, she probably would, she was batty for chatty, so to speak. But that didn’t mean he was gonna respond.

Croc stomped over to the larger arm-chair at the end of the table; the piece itself having been a special request to accommodate his rather… large size. Slumping down onto the leather, the reptilian criminal took all of ten seconds to eye the mountain of fish -and other such, sludge coloured foods, lying at his end of the table- before ploughing his face into it.

Meanwhile, Diablo meandered around the far side of the table, taking a seat opposite Harley, after which, he unfolded a napkin and neatly tucked it into his white-vested tank top.

Not bothering to roll his eyes in exasperation, Deadshot took a seat at the end of the table; with Diablo on his right, Harley on his left and croc straight ahead.

Not that he was paying attention to any of this.

There was a steaming, pecan pie already laid out in front of him. Sweet smelling curls of steam drifted up to caress his nostrils, making his mouth water. The bronze, sugar sprinkled treat was finally his for the taking.

With a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, Deadshot embraced the delicacy with passion.

Quin raised an eyebrow at the spectacle, then shook her head, snatched up a drumstick and began to gnaw. Diablo began cutting into his rare steak with the manners of a king; obviously taking his time with the ordeal.

No one wanted to know what croc was up to.

It was perhaps half way through her third drumstick that Harley finally noticed something amiss.

With a mouth full of food, she pointed the bone at the empty chair on Diablo’s right side.

“Is he late?”

After a second or two, Deadshot peered up. He blinked, then looked back to Harley.

“What?”

“Boomerang” Harley repeated, still pointing her sticky fingers in that direction.

Deadshot frowned, “He’s prob’ly servin’ time for the stunt he pulled”

Diablo cocked his head to the side, spooning in a mouth full of peas before turning to Deadshot, “The fool did something stupid again? Why am I not surprised…”

Deadshot shrugged silently, eyes refocusing on the last slice of pie.

He’d always been quick.

“Ohhh” Harley's eyes lit up in understanding, “ _That’s_ who it was?”

She giggled as Deadshot nodded.

Diablo followed the conversation with his eyes, his mouth otherwise stuffed with as much savory food as was respectable.

“Y’know…I heard they took ‘im to the chamber…” Harley lured, adding emphasis to the final words as she glanced through her lashes.

Deadshot shrugged again, not entirely concerned.

Yet.

“They were talkin’ bout doin’ some freaky deaky experiments down there too…Guess they weren’t playin’” Harley continued, twirling at her pigtails again.

Deadshot shovelled a heaping pile of potatoes on his plate, poured a little gravy on the mound and then scooped a generous amount into his mouth.

“That so?” he mumbled.

Harley nodded, enthusiastically leaning in on her chair as she picked apart the rest of the bone.

“They wuz talkin’ bout formin’ a new kinda soldier…”

Now _that_ got Deadshot’s attention.

Diablo put down his fork, wiping his mouth on the napkin, “They’re using the gringo for tests?”

This time, Deadshot followed flame boy’s question with genuine curiosity.

Delighted by the attention she was receiving, Harley gave a coy wave, “Well that’s wut they wuz sayin’…through the grape vine”

Deadshot scrunched his nose in disbelief, “Through the grape vine? Girl, all you got is a fruit cake. You ain’t close enough to _anyone,_ to hear through a grape vine”

Harley pouted in mock offense, “I am too! Just ask Moller!”

The targeted guard chose that moment to fake a received order through the transmission of his ear-peice before shuffling awkwardly out of the room.

He was noticeably the last guard to leave. Now, they could speak freely.

_Sweet_.

“Moller?” Deadshot dragged out, an eyebrow raised, “ _Really_?”

Harley threw a bone in his direction, “He was lonely. I had love to give. He had secrets to tell...”

“Pillow talk is a dangerous thing, mamacita” Diablo warned, focusing back to his greens.

Blowing a stray hair out of her face, Harley rolled her eyes, “It is not, you big baby”

Croc grunted from the far end of the table, forcing all eyes over to the disgusting heap of skeletal remains and half mauled fleshy debris.

“Basement. Dangerous” he explained.

Deadshot shook his head in exasperation. “ _We’re_ dangerous. The basement ain’t got nothin’ to do with it”

Harley smirked, approving his concept.

Diablo was still frowning at his peas, apparently troubled by the empty chair.

“New things aren’t always good, homie…I do not like the sound of this”

Harley picked up a fancy glass and swirled the crimson wine around, as if in thought. She then picked up the bottle, poured the contents of the glass into the neck and raised the bottle to her lips.

After a brief swig and a broad smile, she turned back to Deadshot.

He _still_ hadn't responded.

“Hot pants has a point, ya know…”

Poking at the untouched lasagna on his plate, Deadshot let out a sigh.

“You two _really_ want me to follow up on this?” he questioned.

The atmosphere grew increasingly serious as each team member gave the outcome some manner of consideration.

“-’Cause it’s not like Waller’s gonna give up her secrets without breaking some bones to find out who squeaked” Deadshot warned, staring pointedly at Harley.

Again, the prickly princess waved off the threat, “Lil’ small talk’ll just help me pass the time, Hon. Coffee only drives the voices so far” she winked, pinching his cheek for good measure.

Encouraged by her confidence, Deadshot turned to Diablo who nodded in agreement.

“Boomerang would agree…”

“Duh. He’s the one we’re savin” Harley chuckled.

Deadshot nodded, turning his attention to the end of the table just as Croc ripped the head off a crab and crunched down on the shell.

Sensing the man’s stare, Croc froze mid bite, a claw still hanging out of his teeth.

“Uh…” Deadshot trailed, disturbed by the image, “You, uh, cool with this plan?”

Croc looked over at the other two, then at the chair, then back to Deadshot.

“Help” Croc growled.

Deadshot frowned, “So is that a yes or?”

The sudden noise of a bolt unlocked had the team swivelling in their chairs to eye the newcomer. Unsurprisingly, it was their usual visitor.

Katana.

“Yay! Katy’s here!” Harley chanted, swirling up from her chair to embrace the stiff-lipped warrior in a tight hug.

Katana stood frozen within Harley’s arms until she was released, then, nodded her head in acknowledgement of greeting.

“It is good to see you”

Harley beamed, grabbing Katana by the wrist and dragging her over to the table, “Come! Sit! Eat!” she gestured wildly.

Though Katana did indeed sit, she politely refused the remaining buffet of foods.

It wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. She was here, strictly, for business. After taking up the position as an elite officer on the maximum security ward, as deemed fit by Waller, she’d made sure to schedule a visit with her friends.

Though it was always…entertaining…to meet up with people who did not fear her as intensely as other, her visits there were brief and duty based. Having the biggest of the bad in one place meant they needed the biggest of the good -or at least one of them- to keep an eye out. Plus, she held their trust….

It was a lot easier to monitor them from the inside anyway. Not that she was spying or anything.

“What are we to discuss today?” Katana began, glancing from one face to the next.

“We was jus’ talkin’ bout your boyfriend” Deadshot jested darkly.

Katana’s expression grew cold, “If you refer to Mister Harkness, I do not approve”

Deadshot chuckled and tossed a grape into his mouth, “Don’t lie. You’re sweet on ‘im”

Katana shook her head adamantly, ignoring Harley as she dipped her head into her hands and ogled at the warrior with teasing, dewy eyes.

“I do not lie nor do I possess a flavour. Harkness is a friend” Katana stated, firmly.

“But you care about him” Harely added, punching her lightly in the shoulder.

Katana glared at Harley. The princess raised her hands in mock defense and turned her attention back to nitpicking the swiss-cheese on the table.

“Ignore them” Diablo suggested. “There are more important things”

Katana was happy to listen to the sensible one in the room. She tilted her head at the presumed trouble.

“Do tell”

“Boomerang’s gon’ an’ got himself in trouble. Again” Deadshot summarized.

“In basement” Croc supplied.

“We thought-cha might know somethin’” Harley asserted, eyes picking apart the walls holding up the secrets behind Katana’s face.

“I do not know” Katana answered bluntly.

“Sure ya do” Harley rebuffed, “-you’re just keepin’ it a secret”

Katana turned to face Harley head on. As if her gaze would win the argument alone.

“I do not keep secrets” she replied, her tone rock solid.

Even Croc managed to frown at this.

Noticing the negative reaction her team was displaying, Katana wisely re-worded her statement.

“I do not _share_ secrets” Katana reiterated.

“But you _do_ know of them” Deadshot lured.

Katana sighed, growing irritated by the blatant interrogation.

“I have heard of…things… but do not have clearance to view those files”

“Waller is causing mayhem again” Diablo concluded.

“When isn’t she?” Harley jabbed.

The pause in conversation didn't last long this time. They were on a roll.

“Why Boomerang?” Croc murmured aloud.

“Take your pick: Attitude. Fashion sense. Puns. Break-outs” Deadshot listed. “You know how he has a mouth”

“That’s not all he has” Harley suggested, cackling gleefully as Deadshot gave her an unamused look.

“Man…I’m trying to eat, senorita” Diablo complained, dropping his fork, “Hush”

“Sorry, doll face” Harley winked.

A lull of comfortable silence glazed over the scene, each member processing the dilemma in their own messed up way.

It was the sound of Croc slurping up a fish, as if it were a plate of spaghetti, that caused the quiet to end.

A droplet of slime landed on Harley, to which she wiped it off and licked it off her finger.

“Could do with some salt…” she mused.

“Disgusting” Katana remarked.

Harley shrugged, a cute expression on her face, “Waste not, want not”

Katana shook her head.

Cutting in before it could get worse, Deadshot rose to his feet.

“Cut the crap. We’re supposed-ta be discussing Sideburn Joe, 'member?”

“Who?” Harley inquired.

“Boomerang” Deadshot sighed.

“His official first name is George, is it not?” Katana implored, genuinely puzzled.

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Then why did you-“

“LISTEN” Deadshot commanded, patience running thin, “-we need to figure out what’s goin’ on 'fore they come for us”

That got their attention. _Good_.

A range of confusion and alarm crossed over their faces. Deadshot couldn’t believe they hadn’t clued in yet.

“What? You think this is just gonna be a one-time thing? What starts with one leads to two…”

“Two is a party” Harley interrupted.

“Dios mio” Diablo groaned, dropping his head in his hands.

Croc grunted his approval.

Deadshot crossed his arms over his chest, “Y’all motherfuckers are gonna pitch in on this or I’ll whup yo ass”

There was a unanimous nod from the table, bar Katana who merely seemed to relent with the barest bow of her head.

“Good. It’s settled then” Deadshot summarized, sitting back down.

“Now where’s that turkey at…?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've been studying for an exam by day and working by night. Not a very Batman-esque catch phrase but hey, I tell it as it is. Aaaanyway, without further ado (or delay), here's the much-awaited chapter! Enjoy!

How had he gotten into this mess again?

All he’d done was go for a quick little stroll.

From point A to point B.

It wasn’t like he’d attacked anyone…after he’d left his cell.

And he hadn’t caused any property damage…beyond the dent in the railing, caused by that guard he’d kicked.

He certainly hadn’t stolen anything…except, perhaps, a lock pass and a set of keys.

I mean, sure, the walk had been _unsupervised_ …but no one had said anything. Not that they’d been able to.

But _still_ …

All he’d wanted to do was stretch his legs. See a little daylight. Talk to some ‘thugs.’

 _Anything_ was better than staring at four gray walls, only 8 feet from your face, at the web-infested end of the prison.

Going for a gander down death row, or as he liked to call it: Electric Avenue, was hardly a crime woth considering. 'Bumping' into Deadshot had merely been a bonus.

It had been a thrilling experience, to say the least.

Hell, they could've regarded it as a new fitness routine.

Was that so wrong?

_Apparently, it was._

As sensations began to filter in from the fog clouding the inside of his skull, Boomerang let out a low moan.

None of the data he was receiving was pleasant.

Never-the-less, his brain had decided it was finally time to wake up. So that’s what he was gonna do.

_Grudgingly._

Prying apart the glue-y substance that held his eyelashes together, Boomerang blinked once, then twice.

After the third and fourth time, a hazy, unfocused image slowly began to slide into view.

Although the mixture of shaded objects and disproportionate angles fed his mind a queasy substitute -against the previous world of darkness- the sights presented to him now were much more preferable to being lost in his own head.

Sadly, the view didn’t last long.

A wonderful wave of vertigo quickly had Boomerang closing his eyes again.

He let out another moan; imparting his displeasure to the room.

_If he’d wanted to go on a roller coaster, he’d of bloody gon’ on one. He didn’t need drugs to mess up his head. He was already nuts._

Not that Waller cared.

A line of concern etched its way across Boomerang’s brow as the psychotic woman’s name rang -a particularly loud and very irritating- alarm bell in his head.

_Where was that bitch now?_

_More importantly... What had she done to him?_

A list of horrible sensations continued to plague Boomerang’s body. The first reports filing in considering the throbbing pains at the forefront of his head before moving on to sunnier feelings such as the cramps in his stomach or the tingling itchiness running along the veins in his arms.

His chest felt heavy too. As if Harley was currently sat on his lungs.

Boomerang peeled his eyes open, glancing down the length of his body, just to make sure.

Harley wasn’t there.

He didn’t know what he would have done, had she actually been sat on his chest.

 _Probably ask her to get off,_ the sarcastic portion of his brain, supplied.

Boomerang gave an inward shrug. Then frowned.

Great. Now he was talking to himself.

_What the fuck had they given him?_

“Minor sedatives…” Waller had stated.

_Yeah, right. "Minor."_

It felt like there were enough drugs in him to send him back to the 60s. 

_Surely, this level of intoxication would be enough to punt an elephant into the New Year._

_He'd have to remember to thank Waller for this. The side effects were a 'must do' for homicidal maniacs,_ Boomerang grated.

Yep. Life sure felt grand for an infamous convict when they found themselves strapped down to a table like a frog on a dissecting tray. They certainly felt special when the pain in their eye sockets suggested that, at any moment, their eyeballs might take a rolling detour out of their cubby holes and melt into little puddles of goo.

And it certainly felt uplifting when their heart felt like it might wear out thanks to the enormous mountain resting on their ribcage.

 _That's what real therapy's like these days,_ he supposed.

Letting out a hitched breath, Boomerang made himself comfortable on the table.

It wasn’t like he could go anywhere.

Might as well enjoy the _peacefulness_ while it lasted.

A beep sounded from somewhere off to his right.

It sounded again as Boomerang rolled his head in that direction and squinted out into the gloomy chamber.

A small, circular object sat alone on a tray to his right; a digital countdown currently displayed on it’s face. The numbers it held weren’t exactly comforting.

Boomerang’s eyes widened as he took in the information.

00:28…the red digits stated.

00:27…they corrected.

00:26. Boomerang twitched.

WHAT-

00:25.

-THE-

00:24.

-FUCK!?

There was nothing like a good old bomb to get a fella out of bed on a morning. Talk about a wake up call.

Instinctively, Boomerang pried at the restraints holding down his arms and legs.

Almost immediately, a burning sensation began to build in his core and radiate out through his limbs. The list of symptoms he’d previously taken stock of began to simultaneously cry in unison.

There was a certain pressure building in his chest and head that made it hard to think. His arms felt like they were on fire. And his eyes…

An onion ninja must have crept into the room ‘cause they wouldn’t stop streaming, they were stinging so intensely.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” Boomerang hissed, staring between his unmoving straps and the countdown timer.

_What the hell kind of therapy was this!?_

He could just imagine Waller looking over his distraught state after he'd been subjected to the last round of needles.

“I suppose it's true. You can’t fix a rabid kangaroo. Terminate him” she would have said.

_Well...perhaps she'd have been more sinister about it but the same result still applied._

And then she'd put a bomb in here to finish the job.

_What the hell, lady!_

Was saving the world not good enough or something? Was he supposed to save a kid from a burning building or a cat from a tree, just to gain her approval?

Maybe he had to do both? Or perhaps, save a burning cat from a building and a mewling kid from a tree?

How should he know? He'd never done it!

Whatever it was, he’d always known she’d hated him.

He was a dog lover, she was a cat lover. Same difference.

Maybe this was her twisted way of getting revenge...

What was he even saying!? This was the drugs talking. HE NEEDED TO GET OUT OF HERE!

00:10…

_SHIT…_

With more strength than he thought he possessed, Boomerang tore at the arm restraints with a hard and final tug.

The sound of sheering metal and tearing bonds filled the small space.

His wrists might be bloodied and bruised but holy shit, he was free!

Well…his arms were any way.

00:05…

Boomerang rocketed into an upright position and ripped the leather restraints from his ankles, finding it surprisingly easy.

He then rolled immediately to his left, away from the bomb.

As he fell, he dragged the side of the bed with him; his combined weight and momentum tipping the metal platform down against his body as if it were a shield.

A double beep suddenly blared close by.

Boomerang braced against the explosion.

He remained in the fetal position for a few minutes. Listening and waiting for the signal that would note his annihilation.

But it never came.

The throbbing pains that had once dominated his awareness, slowly began to seep back into the foreground as the adrenaline wore off.

He could never win.

“Very good, Mr. Harkness” Waller’s voice chimed overhead. 

"Impressive abilities..." she continued, almost to herself, "The treatment seems to be taking effect"

Boomerang flinched. 

He had expected a fiery blast to be the next -and last- thing he heard.

Nope. Just that miserable old bitch instead.

That was life.

Waller was like the black liquorice of sweets. No one wanted her around.

Boomerang groaned deep in his throat.

_Could his day get any worse?_

“Oh, did I startle you?” Waller feigned.

Boomerang gnashed his teeth together in fury. _She’d been watching him._

She probably still was.

With a growl fit for a bear, Boomerang picked himself up off the floor and brushed off his haggard countenance with a look of defiance.

_He might look like the back end of a camel…and if he was being honest, he felt like one too…but she wasn’t gonna get the satisfaction of seeing him admit it._

“You wanna play games, do ya?” Boomerang spat, bleary gaze sweeping each dark corner of the room.

All previous instruments and electronic equipment had notably been stripped from the chamber. As if they had anticipated he would break free.

It had been a test.

“Playing games are a child’s vocation. I prefer to play God” Waller corrected snidely.

With a snarl directed at the only camera in the room, Boomerang snatched up the defective bomb and whipped it at the delicate lens.

Predictably, the camera shattered into oblivion.

“Destructive as ever, I see” Waller commented, sounding amused.

“You ought-ta see it first hand, love” Boomerang encouraged, pacing aimlessly around the cell.

He was always up for a challenge.

Well, sort of. He kinda felt he'd been put in the ring with the world's finest champions, and was hardly fit for a second round.

Plus he couldn't see straight.

_Shouldn’t the drugs be wearing off by now?_

Biting his lip, both in anger and worry, Boomerang redirected his focus to the center light in the room. It wasn’t nearly high enough to stop him from ripping it down.

So he did.

At least this way, whoever entered the room was gonna have a hard time picking his figure out of the shadows. It gave him an advantage.

Something to go on.

Hope.

Once accomplished, he settled for a drunken stumble around the perimeter of the chamber.

During Waller's prolonged silence -during which he could only presume she was studying him- Boomerang took to his own private thoughts.

At one point, he absently licked his lips, drawing unwanted attention to the fact that his tongue felt numb and swollen. To make matters worse, the back of his throat had become so disgusting, he could taste it.

_Might as well add that to the list of things going wrong today..._

He felt like punching a wall.

It was like the worst hangover known to man.

“I shall send Foster to re-evaluate your condition, in person” Waller interrupted suddenly.

Boomerang almost did a double take.

_Was she mad?_

Well, obviously, duh.

_But who the hell, in their right mind, would think it’s a good idea to send an unarmed prick into the hands of an unrestrained criminal you’d just pissed off._

Even _he_ knew that was a stupid idea.

Not like he was gonna tell her that...

“Sure, doll. ‘Ave ‘im bring down some Lays while ‘e’s at it. Bbq’d be nice” Boomerang drawled, a menacing smile glinting through the darkness.

There was another pause of silence.

Boomerang drifted to the wall opposite the door and slid down to the floor.

He was too beat to stand. His ears were ringing for some odd reason.

He was more likely to chunder on Foster’s shoes than give him a what for.

But at least he’d ruin somebody’s day.

That’s what mattered.

“I advise you not to attack Agent Foster when he arrives” Waller stated, coolly predicting the Aussie’s signature tactics.

“Or wha? You’ll gimme a spank?” Boomerang droned tiredly.

“Do not confuse my patience for kindness, Mr. Harkness. I can still make your life a living hell. Your trials are not yet completed...” Waller threatened.

Boomerang scoffed, focusing more on the pain than the warnings.

That didn’t stop Waller.

 _She liked to hear her own voice,_ he presumed.

“Co-operation would go a long way towards transferring you back to your cell” Waller enticed, her tone eerily calm.

 “An’ my foot’ll go a long way up yer ass if you keep yammerin’, Waller”

 There was a scratching noise in the background as Waller sighed. It sounded like writing.

_Was she recording this?_

_How much? And for what purpose?_

_Whatever it was, it wasn’t a doodle._

_It was trouble._

A yawn suddenly forced itself upon Boomerang, leading the convict to bow his head. He didn't want Waller knowing he was weak. She'd take advantage of it.

Another yawn left tears pricking the corner Boomerang's eyes.

_Why the hell was he so damn tired all of a sudden? He had to be ready for Foster..._

“Tired are we?” Waller inquired sweetly.

_Crap. How the hell did she know?_

Boomerang didn’t grace Waller with a response.

“Foster said it would be one of the side effects” Waller continued, luring him in.

“Shut up. ‘M tryna sleep” Boomerang grunted, eyes feeling heavy.

“Oh, you’ll sleep soon enough” Waller assured.

“But not yet. There’s still six phases left to complete”

Boomerang didn’t have time to process that last revelation.

The bolt on the door abruptly cranked to the left, the door swinging open to reveal several weapon clad men led by the skinny, balding man he now knew as Foster.

“You didn’ even bring the bbq…” Boomerang trailed, his body slumping to the side as a frown played off his genuine disappointment.

Foster smiled, gesturing for the men to head in and contain the deflated criminal.

It was already obvious who would be bringing the pain.

And for once, it wasn’t Boomerang.

A crying shame, really.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the lovely support! I went to see the movie again for a refresher (i didn't want to lose my mojo with this fic). As you all know, the movie was still as awesome as it was the first time. I can't quite get "Ballroom Blitz" out of my head, not that i want to either haha. As a side note, I also read up on some background info for this chapter, just to make it was at least semi-accurate. I'd also like to point out this chapter gets pretty dark, just as a forewarning. "Hurt" by Johnny Cash inspired a lot of what i wrote at the end of the chapter since it meshes perfectly with the Boomerang's mindset. Aaaanyways, I can't wait to see what you guys think of it! Enjoy!

“That’s enough” Waller commanded.

Bolts of blue lightning flickered across the body before her, forcing muscles to spasm, eyes to roll and limbs to contort.

She could hardly take her eyes off his fingers; all gnarled and bent out of shape.

But she did.

Because she had a job to do.

Foster brought his gaze to meet his superior’s, eyeing her for a moment. It appeared as if he were contemplating whether or not he should follow her orders…A dangerous game to be playing with Waller, that was certain.

_He was getting a sick kind of satisfaction out of this,_ Waller noted.

“Shut it down” Waller repeatedly, sternly. “Or you will take his place”

With the slightest delay, Foster slowly turned back to his equipment and dialed down the motor responsible for generating the electricity.

Once it was safe to do so, Foster unhooked the clamps from the table; immediately dropping them in pain as the heat burned into his fingers.

Waller smiled as her assistant bit out a curse.

“Karma”

Foster glared at his boss but held back any sarcastic replies. He didn’t need any more bad luck today.

By the time the scientist had properly shut down the remaining instruments, curls of acrid smoke were only just beginning to dissipate above the convict’s limp body.

“Fetch me a chair” Waller called back to a guard, hardly missing a beat.

With a clipped nod, the appointed guard quickly hustled out of the room,only to return a minute later with a simple, wooden backed chair.

Waller pointed to a spot beside the convict’s bed; directing the guard to place her chair there before pointing back to the door.

“Leave us” Waller stated.

This time, all guards vacated the chamber.

There were no complaints.

No delays.

Just plain and simple obedience.

_Mindless and compliant._

Just the way she liked it

All the while, Foster stood behind Waller’s shoulder like a vulture, his eyes greedily drinking in the savagery of his work, now strung out across the metal bed. His eyes were still sparkling with maddening delight.

“You can go now” Waller droned, dismissing him with a curt wave of her hand.

Foster’s face contorted with surprise, his feet rooting to the spot in defiance.

“But, I-“ he sputtered, clearly outraged.

“Are you arguing with me, Foster?” Waller questioned, turning in her chair to deliver an intimidating stare.

All of the energy seemed to drain out of Foster at once.

His shoulders sagged and his head bowed down until his eyes met his shoes.

“No, ma’am” Foster replied bitterly.

Waller gave Foster an expectant stare, implying without words, that he should depart.

“Very well, ma’am” Foster agreed, turning on the spot and slinking out of the chamber.

He made sure to close and lock the deadbolt behind him.

_Finally._  She could get to work.

Waller let out a sigh, then, twisted back to her favourite patient.

He still hadn’t moved.

_Good._

_Life was easier this way._

With a lick of her forefinger, Waller busied herself in thumbing through the file folder in her lap, scanning sheet after sheet until she found what she was looking for.

Digging a pen out of her pocket, Waller extracted the stack of sheets and scribbled something illegible on the first page.

Ready for business, Waller laid the clipboard down on her lap and looked up to assess her work.

“How are you feeling?”

The words hung in the air for an unusually long time, allowing the ridiculousness of the question to sink in.

Boomerang didn’t respond.

“I asked you how you were feeling” Waller repeated, adamantly.

Again, her question was denied an answer.

Waller squinted over at Boomerang, taking in the myriad of pin pricks dotting along his arms and across his chest.

Blood had long since welled to the surface of each hole, colouring his glistening torso in a sickly pattern of interconnected, crimson vessels.

Each rivulet of blood had seeped down on either side of the metal table creating a nice little pool of blood for him to bathe in.

On top of that, angry burn marks and purple-tinged bruises lay sporadically across the surface of his sweat drenched skin; a stark contrast against the pallid colour of his face.

The trademarked grin that had often tested the temper of Waller now remained slack and broken. Similarly, the eyes that once taunted her mind now lay closed and sunken, though the restless orbs danced around just beneath the surface. 

If it wasn’t for the involuntary twitch and staccato of wheezing breaths, Boomerang would have looked dead.

By all rights, he should have been.

When you charged a man like a battery for five hours at a time, the outcome didn’t have nearly the same desired effects as one would hope.

Then again, Boomerang wasn’t just an ordinary man.

Instead, he was a crazy motherfucker from down under who’d chosen his primary weapon to be a boomerang.

A fricking boomerang.

So, of course, death would be a challenge. Everything was with him.

Waller let out an impatient sigh.

“You _will_ answer me” she grated.

That's when his breathing ceased.

Waller frowned. Waiting for it to return.

It didn’t.

Immediately, Waller sprang to her feet, leaning over Boomerang’s body before thrusting a finger to his neck.

In the time it took to read his pulse, Boomerang had yanked his right-hand loose of the secretly unscrewed restraint and gripped Waller by the throat.

As Waller choked for breath, Boomerang drew Waller closer to his face.

Now, practically nose to nose, Boomerang continued to deliver the intense, bloodshot stare-down he’d been emitting since Waller had touched him.

No longer, was there a psychotic twinkle in his eyes.

Gone was the joyous fever of his aura.

Now, all that was left was the animal.

And it was hungry.

The disturbing sounds of strangulation grew louder as Waller fought the one handed convict.

Raking nails into skin, clawing fingers into wounds, jabbing a concealed, 1-inch blade into his arm.

None of it helped.

Try as she might, Boomerang’s fist would not release its grip.

_Perhaps this was karma for admitting him to treatment,_ Waller’s blanching mind surmised.

_He could have easily ripped off the rest of his restraints and attempted to escape,_ Waller noted.

But, no. He'd stayed. For revenge.

This was personal now.

Why else would he be staring at her like that? 

Obviously, he wanted to be the last person she ever saw.

It was only as the world began to fade at the edges of her vision that there was a knock at the reinforced steel door.

“Everything alright in there, ma’am?”

Unfortunately, Waller was too busy to respond.

“Excuse me, Director Waller?” the voice insisted.

Waller’s eyes began to roll to the ceiling.

For whatever reason, the guard took the initiative in opening the steel door.

What he saw had him screaming orders into his coms and a taser into his hand. He dashed over to the center of the room and jabbed the taser into Boomerang’s side.

Though Waller received a startling shock from the taser’s effects, Boomerang’s loosened grip on her throat made it a sacrifice worth making.

Crumpling to the floor, Waller gasped for breath. Her eyes streaming with pain. Her lungs quivering against a severe lack of oxygen.

But the fact that her patient was now cackling maniacally, made her blood boil.

As hands began to drag her back to her feet, Waller snatched up a taser from a guard’s belt, shrugged off the aid and jabbed it into Boomerang’s neck.

_Oh, it was personal, alright._

As the convict was forced into a convulsing dance, Waller made sure to hold his eyes with her own.

A shadow of blue lightening danced across her face as hairs of electricity splayed out across Boomerang’s chest.

His gaze seemed cognizant enough to understand her intentions.

No longer would she be scared by him. If he pulled shit like that again, he would pay for it, dearly.

As Boomerang’s eyes began to lose their focus, Waller let go of the trigger and removed the taser. She stepped back from the bed, her face painted both in satisfaction and the need to do more damage.

She was panting almost as deeply as he was.

After a minute or two of tense silence, Waller straightened her jacket and patted down her hair. With a sweeping gaze around the room, Waller picked up her fallen clipboard and sat back in her waiting chair.

“Three of you can stay. The rest of you, out. Now” Waller ordered.

She was back to business. Just like that.

_And by God, she wasn’t going to waste another moment on this criminal._

As she checked off a few attributes on his list, Boomerang rolled his head lazily to the side.

When Waller glanced up, she caught him watching her eerily.

_He was done playing games, apparently._

The amount of bone-crushing hatred emanating from his sickly blue orbs, tempted Waller to reconsider her guard’s presence _outside_ the chamber.

But, there were three guards with her now. If Boomerang tried anything else, he would regret it.

Waller cleared her throat and began.

“You never answered my question…”

Boomerang continued to drill her with a psychotic, unblinking stare.

Waller sighed impatiently.

She flipped through the folder, ready to begin the psychological phase of the testing. It wasn’t enough to beat a man down physically. In order for Operation Alpha to succeed, she’d have to dominate every part of the Australian.

It wasn’t enough to beat a man down physically. In order for Operation Alpha to succeed, she’d have to dominate every part of the Australian.

Including his psyche.

It was a task she'd been eager to perform.

“It says here your father was an American soldier. Elite squad…” Waller divulged.

As she had hoped, Boomerang’s expression darkened.

He didn’t respond, however.

_She’d just have to keep digging_ , Waller noted.

With another flip of the page, Waller smiled.

“But we both know that’s not true…” she hummed.

Boomerang smiled likewise, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Secretly the son of an ill-tempered drunk, are we?”

The smile began to fade.

“Went on to marry an Australian whore, I see” Waller continued, smiling at Boomerang casually.

Boomerang rolled his neck, popping the vertebra with a menacing scowl.

“I suppose that explains where the craziness comes from…” Waller mused aloud.

Boomerang shifted almost imperceptibly. Whatever he’d been planning was easily stopped by his newly reinforced cuffs.

_That’s what you get for strangling the boss lady._

Boomerang’s lip curled in anger.

“Your true daddy ditched you for another sleaze-bag while mommy kept on digging for gold. Quite the family you’ve got there” Waller teased, shaking her head in disapproval.

Boomerang’s fists began to curl, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

“I wonder why no one wanted to stay in the house with their good little golden boy?” Waller mused. “Was it the bed wetting, do you suppose?”

Without missing a beat, Waller continued.

“Or perhaps you were you retarded?”

She flipped through another page of information.

“Says here your intelligence scores barely passed the minimum. Didn’t even graduate…”

“S’not like they ‘ad tons of money floatin’ ‘round to buy textbooks!” Boomerang snapped, finally reaching his limit.

“So you chose not to attend?” Waller challenged.

“Wasn’ my fault I couldn’ step through the front door without shoes” Boomerang shot back, teeth bared.

_Finally, he was interacting_ , Waller observed.

_And he was taking it personally too. A bonus._

“Good parents would find a decent job to support their child” Waller defended. “Seems like yours just didn’t care enough about you”

Boomerang spat in Waller’s direction.

“Is that it? Mommy and daddy got tired of dragging little George around?” 

Boomerang stared at her heatedly. Rolling with the punches she was firing.

She was obviously getting to him on some level, but he wasn't losing his cool entirely. He was tougher than most. Her efforts still weren't enough.

She'd have to pour on the pressure somehow.

“Even the American couldn’t be bothered to put up with your sorry ass” Waller tried.“Thought it was more acceptable to bring a belt to your birthday party than a piñata” 

Boomerang shrugged, “Love hurts”

“He never loved you" Waller replied bluntly.

Boomerang disguised his flinch with a sickening chuckle.

“Ya gonna ask me ‘bout my dead pets next?” he deflected.

Waller laughed, “Oh there’s plenty of time for that. But what I really want to know, is _why_ , after all those bank robberies, you didn’t go home to see your son”

Boomerang’s precious composure died completely at that remark.

A hollow stare met Waller's poisonous smirk. Everybody had a breaking point. This would be Boomerang's. 

“Did you forget his name already?” Waller taunted, relishing the look of anguish on Boomerang’s face.

“Owen” he answered quietly.

“You left him behind for a life of crime” Waller enforced, voice growing louder with each conviction.

A slight nod to her right resulted in an electric shock to Boomerang’s body.

The haunted expression didn't leave his face.

“Thought you’d return the same favour as your father before you?” Waller accused, nodding for another shock.

Boomerang clenched his teeth together as white hot agony encased his heart. This time, it wasn’t the electricity draining the life out of him.

It was her words. The reality of what he’d done. What he’d locked away and ignored for years.

Boomerang closed his eyes. Trying to block it all out.

“You’re _nothing_ to him now, Harkness” Waller spat, punctuating her statement with another shock. “You missed your chance. You call yourself a father? Deadshot is a better father than you'll ever be. He actually tries while you sit here in self-pity, thinking about how you're gonna get out and steal from other people's lives. You’re not worth the shit on his shoes”

Boomerang let out a pained howl as another wave of electricity swept through his system.

“You can’t even deny that you abandoned him, can you?” Waller hissed, stabbing at his shoulder with a sharp finger.

Another volt followed her question.

“Please…” Boomerang whimpered.

“Begging won’t help you here” Waller jeered.

Another shock forced Boomerang to arch his back up like a pretzel.

“You don’t know…” Boomerang panted, eyes swirling with the pain and guilt of a broken man.

“Oh, but I do know” Waller corrected. “I know everything”

The next fatal shock had Boomerang scrambling to regain his equilibrium. _He couldn’t leave it like this. She had to know._

_No more secrets. No more lies._

“I didn't want him to be like me!” Boomerang shouted, his voice cracking and hoarse. “I didn’t want him to _know_ me!”

Waller scoffed, “Owen is a part of you as much as you’re a part of him. You think he hasn’t been looking for you?”

Boomerang looked away, focusing on the pain in his chest. Anything was better than this.

“You might have hated your father but Owen _craved_ his” Waller informed, “You were just too busy with your own selfish greed to notice that…”

Another shock. Another painful memory.

He couldn't keep going like this.

“You truly are a heartless bastard, aren’t you?” Waller concluded.

Boomerang had nothing to say.

He couldn’t deflect it any more.

_She was right._

_He was worthless_. 

No amount of excuses could cover up what he’d done.

Waller stepped back with a smile as she watched the emotion and resignation roll across Boomerang's face. He was so gullible. So weak minded.

But Boomerang was too far gone to notice her satisfied smirk.

He didn’t care what happened to him any more. He probably deserved it.

And so, he lay there.

Even as Waller personally snatched up a loaded syringe and stabbed it into his neck, Boomerang remained motionless.

_This was for the best._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews! I know I keep saying it but they're always so revitalizing that I couldn't possibly leave out a short mention. On an entirely different note, I'd like to point out that what I had intended to be in one chapter, will clearly only fit into two. Therefore, the team POV was split up accordingly between this chapter and the next. I just wanted to clarify in case you guys thought I had intentionally skipped over some characters. That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

While a certain somebody had been taking it easy: kicking back, chatting with the director and generally having a nice _trip_ away from home, the rest of the squad had been tasked with a new mission.

Aka: Find Boomerang… and drag his beloved, hairy ass back to the cell where they could keep an eye on him.

Considering it had to be an undercover operation, the squad had disconnected from their usual meet up and focused more on trading goods for information; by using their unique talents and know-how to get further answers on Boomerang and relay them back among the squad.

Seeing as this was indeed an operation of impressive proportions, Harley had also decided it needed a respectable code name.

So, of course, she’d dubbed it: Where’s Waldo?

Personally, Deadshot had preferred the name: “Digging” for gold.

But it wasn't like he could argue with Harley and win…

Not that he hadn't tried.

And so, Operation Waldo was underway.

* * *

 

Not even an hour later, Harley found herself doing some 'next level, detective shit' -as Deadshot called it. Obviously, being sneaky was her jam so she couldn't just ignore an opportunity when it presented itself.

Whatever that opportunity might be...

Like a spider to a fly, Harley had lain in wait.

It hadn't taken long at all for the fly to stroll in.

“Heeey, handsome” Harley lured, dangling from her makeshift swing with a provocative smile.

The guard shuffled closer to her cage, his eyes hooked on her entrancing smile.

 _A newbie,_ Harley assessed. _Perfect_.

_Getting answers from this dolt would be easier than taking candy from Batman’s reinforced basement._

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before…” Harley continued, twining her legs around the ribbon-like fabric before hanging upside down to meet him face to face.

The guard’s gaze traveled along the length of her body, grey eyes drinking in each curve and rise of her flawless being. Again, his eyes settled on her smile.

_Looks like the sucka had a fetish...Good ta' know._

_The poor buck looked in dire need for a rough and tumble spin,_ Harley mused. _After all the late night patrols, making sure she was safe in her cage…The least she could do was accommodate him, right?_

Harley smirked, enjoying the attention she was receiving.

“How 'bout you come in here an’ look at me like that, Shuga...” Harley drawled seductively, tilting her head to the side as she ran a hand down the bar.

The guard met her eyes.

Though he was troubled by her offer, he was hardly sold on it.

_He was young. Still fresh from the academy._

_It would be hard to break him._

Not that she didn’t like a good challenge.

“I don’t sleep with criminals” the guard bit out, eyes hardening as he backed away from the cage.

Harley felt her heart thrum harder in her chest, a smile splaying her lips even wider.

“An’ I don’t sleep with pussy’s” she spat, taking a playful yet feisty approach.

The guard flinched in offense, circling back to make his own retort.

She noticed how he held his gun limply against its strap. As if it was merely an accessory or after thought. He’d already forgotten his purpose here…

“You think I’m gonna waltz in there and be seduced by the likes of you? You’re bat-shit insane. Who knows what kinda diseases you’ve got” he ranted.

Harley pouted, unfurling from her swing and hopping down to the floor. In height, she was much shorter than the guard. He was packing as much muscle as Kevlar by the looks of it. _Yummy_.

Noting his stingy attitude wouldn't mesh well with her bold, confident flirtations, Harley immediately switched directions; going for a more tame and sane image.

She shuffled over to the bars in three soft footsteps, tucking a white strand of hair behind her ear and widening her doe eyes for his benefit. She might not have made the wisest decisions in her life but that didn't mean she was stupid. She knew how to play the game. In fact, she was an expert.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to a lady…” she whined, scuffing her foot as she clasped a hand around her wrist and bowed her head, looking up into his eyes.

“You ain’t no lady” the guard squinted, looking at her with awareness in his eyes.

Harley rubbed her arm as if she were self-conscious but made sure to balance her shy approach with a defiant hip. She curled her hands around the bars and leaned up to him. 

“Care to tell me what I am?” she dared, quiet but strong.

The guard took a moment to consider this.

“A psychotic, raging criminal with sociopathic tendencies and a lust rivaling that of Cupid” the guard summarized, bluntly.

Harley whistled as if impressed, “Well, that sure beats the average resume. Dontcha think?” she smiled, bouncing somewhere between sane and crazy.

The guard was unable to hide his grin, “You’re insane” he scoffed.

_Finally, a smile. She'd hooked him._

_Now she didn't have to play the good little girl._

Harley dipped her head against the bars, staring heatedly at the man through her lashes, “Everybody has a dark side…” she implied.

“You don’t fool me, Quin” the guard turned abruptly, beginning to walk away.

Harley bit her lip, switching gears as she let a sliver of honesty enter her voice.

“Wait! Come back! I don’t wanna be left alone! At least give a girl a chance…” she begged, reaching through the bars.

The guard stopped and turned on the spot.

The sincerity in her eyes had him pacing back to her side, though his face betrayed the caution he felt inside.

“You’re out of chances. That’s why you’re here” the guard schooled, his tone seeming somewhat sympathetic.

Harley broke eye contact, “Yeah…well. I’m crazy remember. Can’t help myself…”

She added a broken laugh for good measure, allowing the guard to wade through the situation rather than her to him.

She would draw him in. Just like everyone else.

“I was just as fucked up as you...” the guard revealed, bowing his head in thought, “-You shoulda took the same route I did”

Harley smiled lightly, looking up into his eyes. He was only two feet away now.

“But my way was much more fun…” she crooned, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger.

She caught him staring. Again.

“An’ that’s the difference 'tween you and me, sweetheart” he drawled lowly, a sincere look on his face.

_Ooh... ‘Sweetheart.’ They were already onto nicknames…_

Harley slowly backed away from the cage, drawing him in.

“We're all the same person here...I just got caught for being honest with myself” Harley teased, padding over to the little gift she’d received from Waller.

The espresso machine.

The guard scratched his jaw in contemplation, unable to figure out how they'd become so friendly. He honestly didn't mind, much. She didn't seem as bad as they'd said.

If anything, she was just lonely.

 _Boy, was he ever mistaken_.

“You wanna talk ‘bout this over coffee?” Harley interrupted, twirling around as if she were a meter maid at a coffee diner.

The guard grinned, amused by her antics as he circled around the other side of the cage to follow her. Like a dog on a leash.

“Nah. I’m good”

Harley raised an eyebrow, pouring a cup already, “You sure? I make a mean brew…” she enticed.

The guard looked to the coffee and then back at Harley. 

As she bent over to pick the saucer she could feel his eyes on her ass.

“Uhhh…” the guard trailed, eyes darting back to her face as she caught him staring. He blushed in embarrassment, suddenly at a loss for what to say.

Not allowing him to think, Harley quickly reached through the bars and placed the cup and saucer in his large hands.

“You won’t regret it” she smiled sweetly, pouring herself a cup and sitting cross-legged on the bench.

The guard stared into the swirling contents, lured in by the pleasing smell.

“Maybe just one…” he relented.

One was all it took to get into the guy’s mind.

She’d spiked the coffee of course.

It wasn’t long before all the precious secrets came tumbling out.

Over the next hour, Harley spent her time nodding enthusiastically and jotting down mental notes regarding the latest activities of Waller, CIA operations, prison extensions and cafeteria recipes.

Oh, and Boomerang’s whereabouts. Duh.

With another nod, Harley retreated back into her mind. She was totally gonna rub this in Deadshot’s face. After all the shit talking and ordering around he’d been doing lately, he deserved it. For once, she’d truly outdone herself.

Joker would have been proud.

* * *

 

“Fuck!”

Diablo frowned at the page he’d been reading; his new cell mate having interrupted his concentration. For the fifth time.

He hadn’t asked for someone to share the cell with him. In fact, he preferred to be alone. Like he had been the first dozen times. But, now that Waller had found she could trust him (given his contributions on “Suicide Day”) he’d been given ‘special privileges.’

According to her and the loco staff, these special privileges consisted of a cell mate... purely on the basis that “Socializing would be good for his health.”

Diablo begged to differ.

Peering down from the top bunk, Diablo watched as Erik paced up and down angrily. The guy was one angry son of a bitch, always cursing and punching the walls for no good reason.

He actually reminded him of Boomerang…crazy and bad tempered. Not that he thought of his teammate often. But still…

“SON OF A BITCH” Erik snarled again.

Diablo let out a tired sigh, now unable to get back to his book.

“Why dontchu calm down, esse? You ain’t gon’ accomplish nothing like that” Diablo advised, dearly wanting to roll his eyes.

“You tellin’ me to calm down!?” Erik screeched, glaring up at the laid-back gangster.

Diablo pursed his lips together. _Here we go again._

“Nah. Jus’ statin facts is all” Diablo responded neutrally.

Erik’s right eye twitched as he digested the reply.

“You think I’m scared of you!?” Erik challenged suddenly.

Diablo blinked in surprise. It was almost a mind game to figure out how Erik reached the conclusions that he did.

“Listen, puto. If you don’t calm down, the guards-“ Diablo began impatiently.

“YOU TELLIN’ ME WHAT TO DO!?” Erik roared, clawing his way up to Diablo’s bed.

What happened next would be forever referred to as an ‘accident.’

Though he hadn’t exactly stopped himself, Diablo couldn’t resist putting the man in place when he’d tried to rip him down to the floor.

Nobody touched Diablo without his consent. And those that did got burnt. He wasn’t nobody’s bitch.

Never was, never would be.

So what if Erik’s hair fell out? So what if the orange jacket looked a little singed?

It hadn’t looked good on him anyway.

From the outside of the cell, all anyone saw was a bright flash of light. That was it.

Nothing abnormal going on here…

Erik didn’t complain for the rest of the night. Or ever, for that matter.

If anything, he'd entered a new relationship born of fear and respect; trading safety for valuables and information.

Not that Diablo planned on hurting him -unless he had to.

But it didn’t hurt to reap rewards from the dumb gringo either.

Long story short, Erik spilled some beans on the happenings near Boomerang. Diablo hadn’t pushed the guy on the matter (no that he’d had to) and Erik hadn’t stopped.

All he knew was that there’d been a guy dragged down to the chamber right near his cell. According to Erik, there’d also been a lot of screaming and bright lights.

He’d seen Waller going and coming, almost daily, for the better part of a week; a pretty little clipboard tucked under her arm and several arms guards and scientists on her tail.

Boomerang had never left the chamber.

_Good to know._

Diablo nodded in earnest as Erik continued to talk.

Given that the dude hadn't stopped talking, Diablo began to make notes in the back of his book. He didn’t want to forget all the details…Deadshot needed to know about this.

He’d file it away somewhere in the meantime.

Hide it until it was Tuesday…then bring it to the cafeteria like some ‘show and tell’ prized bullshit.

At least he’d have something to bring for once, other than burnt clothing and the smell of ash.

Deadshot would be pleased.

* * *

 

When it came down to Croc, there wasn’t a lot to be said.

Just a whole lot of staring.

And running away.

And possibly covering your nose.

Croc didn’t mind. He was used to it.

As long as they left him alone and fed him regularly, he was completely fine with spending his days watching the flat screen tv and swimming around in the grimy little cell he called home.

Until of course, Waller decided he’d been getting sloppy and needed some exercise.

He’d tried to growl in defiance. But she’d growled back.

And so, that was how Croc found himself stretched out in the shade of the exercise yard, snarling at gangsters and throw back thugs as they tried to proposition him with a deal.

It was tiresome and pointless.

He had shows to get back to. Why bother with this crap? It’s not like he was working out anyway. Waller couldn’t make him.

In his honest opinion, he was just a big, misplaced, scale-y slug stuck out in the sun.

It made him miserable and hot.

Not to mention, angry.

You didn’t wanna challenge Croc when he was in one of those moods. You’d regret it if you did. His temper was short enough to begin with.

He hated those days.

And guess what day it was?

Yep. It was one of those days.

At least, this time, something productive had come out of it.

* * *

 

Perhaps, an hour into the intense Louisiana heat, a new figure had strolled up to him, a smug expression on his face.

“I’ve got somethin’ you want” the dead-beat had taunted.

Croc bared his teeth, not wanting to move from his shady area. He was sprawled out comfortably as it was. If this dude made him move…God help him.

“I’ll trade it fo’ yo’ assistance” the dead-beat chose his words carefully, clasping his hands together like a business man.

Croc rolled his neck menacingly.

“Leave” he boomed; his deep, ominous voice commanding more power than he actually held at the moment.

The dead-beat weighed from foot to foot indecisively. 

But he was a stubborn. Weariness be damned.

“I’ll make it worth yo' while…” he promised.

Croc feigned an attack, lurching up half way just to see what the man would do.

Predictably, the man sprang back, a pathetic left handed ‘chop’ action being his first instinctive response.

Croc let out a single ‘HA’ and lay back against the cool metal of the wire fence.

Thoroughly disheveled, the dead-beat slicked back his hair in an indignant manner and straightened his orange jumpsuit. He approached Croc with a new air of determination.

“S'bout yo'…Boom'rang” the dead-beat whispered, looking this way and that, even though there was no one remotely close by.

Croc frowned. If you could call it that.

_Great. Now he’d have to participate._

He waited patiently for the dead-beat to continue.

He didn’t.

“I ain’t gonna say no mo’ 'less _you_ say yo’ in on ma' end o' the dealio” he raised his nose in a haughty manner.

Croc gave the man a half-lidded, impatient stare.

“Deal”

_He'd had to. Right?_

_Boomerang was a friend. He needed to know what had happened to_ said _friend. If moving a couch or eating a guy was what it took to find out, then he was in. He was bored of sitting around, doing nothing, on exercise day anyway._

The dead-beat rubbed his hands together enthusiastically then squatted to the floor.

The things he had to say weren’t the most comforting things to hear.

But Croc was happier to know than be left in the dark...figuratively speaking.

When the dead-beat had finished, Croc started to his feet with a snarl. The man leapt back defensively, eyes trained onto Croc’s back as the reptilian marched over to the inner door of the prison yard.

“Where you goin, Croc?” the dead-beat demanded, hands up in anger, “We made a deal!”

“Next week” Croc assured, now banging his fist against the door.

The guards' would have to obey his demands eventually. Or someone would lose a finger.

As was expected the door peeled open and Croc found himself face to face with the muzzles of at least a dozen guns.

“Hungry. Cafeteria. Now” Croc thundered.

_It was a lie, obviously. But it wasn’t like he could just sit on this information while Boomerang was subjected to that hell hole. He had to talk to the others._

“It’s not Tuesday” one guard remarked.

“NOW” Croc roared, pushing his way through the throng of guns like they were toothpicks.

The guards stood about like idle wet nurses, not entirely sure how to defy the monster’s wish.

As a few men followed in Croc’s wake, a trailing guard unclipped a walkie talkie and held it to his face.

“Send for the others. They’re having the dinner earlier this week” he stated.

There was a crackle of static on the other end before a confused man answered.

“But, it’s not Tuesday-“ he sounded flustered.

“I know. Just do it” the guard sighed.

“Alright…”

And that’s how Tasty Tuesday’s became Flavoursome Friday’s.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, life came a-knocking...but i appreciate you patience! Here's the following chapter :)

**One hour before Flavoursome Friday’s cafeteria meet up:**

Deadshot leaned against the bars, casually eyeing either end of the hall outside his cell. There was no one there. Hadn’t been for at least an hour.

No one watching was from the camera either. It hadn’t moved in that annoying scratchy way it did when someone was trying to follow his movements.

He was well and truly alone.

“Pssst!”

No response.

“Pssssssssst!”

Nothing.

“Hey! Fuck face!” Deadshot tried again.

“You talkin’ to me, cupcake?” an angry voice shouted back.

_Finally_. He’d snagged a fish.

“Well _you_ replied….so…” Deadshot implied.

“I’m gonna rip you a new one!” the enraged inmate cursed, “You think you’re safe behind those bars? You’re a dead man”

“Actually, it’s Deadshot” Deadshot corrected, smirking.

The convict seemed flustered in his response, “Oh, uh, yeah? Well...I'm still gonna tear you apart! You just remember that...”

Deadshot nodded, as if considering the threat.

_It was all going according to plan._

“Is that so?” Deadshot challenged, “An’ how you gonna do that?”

There was a pause.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Cupcake” the inmate swore, trying a little too hard to sound tough.

Deadshot smirked, “I’ll be waiting”

Over the next few minutes, a combination of slamming noises, grunts and curses echoed around the cell block.

It almost sounded like the inmate was trying to stuff a dead pig down the toilet.

Deadshot scoffed.

The guards were going to catch wind of the ruckus he’d provoked. And when they did, that's when he'd strike.weigh in on the action.

He needed their attention. This was the only way he could ask questions...

“If you don’t quiet down, those guards’ll come an’ fix your face for ya” Deadshot informed casually.

“Fuck you!” the convict growled, his efforts increasing.

“I’m just warning ya” Deadshot shrugged.

“You need to be praying, s’what you need to be doin” the convict warned.

It was at that moment that the cell block door let out an ominous buzz.

_Here they come…_

One by one, the guards came marching into the cell block; dozens of boots drilling their way across concrete while a single angry voice began issuing orders.

The scraping of bars rang down the corridor before the heavy ‘thwack’ of a heavy baton struck flesh. A howl of pain from Mr Cupcake rang around the cell block. Then, silence.

Deadshot waited patiently for his moment to intervene.

He could hear the low, growling voice of the head guard, threatening the skin of each and every convict under the sun should this ever happen again.

Of course, threats were nothing when excuses were everything.

“But t’wasn’t me!” Mr Cupcake whined, in pain by the sounds of it.

Another thwack.

“DEADSHOT STARTED IT!” Cupcake roared, both angry and upset.

Another thwack.

But this time, there were boots marching in his direction.

_Good_.

He cocked his head to the side as the guards rounded the cell door and walked into his quaint little bedroom.

“Anything I can help you with?” Deadshot implored, politely.

“What did you do?” the guard dead panned.

Deadshot frowned, though a smile shone in his eyes, “Nothing…”

“Right. That’s it. You’re comin with us” the guard declared, nodding to his partner as they each gripped an arm.

Deadshot flinched as he felt fingers gripping his flesh.

He didn’t like to be touched. _It felt like fire. No one had the right…_

The reasons wore on in the hitman’s mind, battling against his will to stay calm and obedient.

Obviously, he could fight back. He _could_ turn them into pretzels in the blink of an eye, never to grab another convict again without remembering his fury.

But…he had a mission to pursue.

_He needed them to win this fight._

How else would he reach his goal?

And so, Deadshot allowed himself to be led out of the cell and down the corridor. Each footstep bringing him closer to answers. Or so he hoped.

If for some reason this shit when backward on him, he was gonna kill the ‘tame hitman’ persona and let loose on these bastards…

But until then, he’d be as ‘cute as a lollipop on Easter’…as Harley would say.

Or as cute as a hitman could get in the arms of four burly dudes on the way to the 'disciplinary action' room, anyway...

* * *

 

He should have foreseen the pain headed his way.

The average dude couldn't just start talking trash in the prison and get away with it. So the upper-most dude certainly couldn't either. There was no status in prison, despite what the inmates thought.

That said, when you were a prized pony in the line of sight of every important person in there, you were more liable to receive special gifts...

In the shape of angry fists.

Let's just say, nineteen punches to the gut tended to make a guy feel like jelly.

Three punches would have been enough to say ‘shut up and don’t give me sass.’ Five punches would have been rightly deserved if he had spat in a guards eye and made a reference to his mama. Which he had. But that didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

But nineteen punches?

_Were they guards or mules? 'Either way, he’d be pissing rainbows for a while now, for fuck's sake…_

Deadshot rolled his good eye to the ceiling, then aimed his head to the left and spat a big glob of blood out onto the floor near the guard's shoe.

The guard shook his fist out, menacingly. It was all bloodied and gnarled across the knuckles.

His blood.

His ‘gnarl?’

_Whatever._

_So long as this paid off._

“’m done here... You got me... Time for bed now, right, guys?” Deadshot panted, leaning forward against his straps.

Another punch.

_That made 20._

Hey,  _at least he still had enough brain cells to count. That was a plus, right?_

Suddenly the door creaked open; a small, shadowy figure hanging in its midst.

Apparently, their presence was enough to turn each guard around.

No words were needed.

Each guard exited the room in silence, allowing the figure to drift in and occupy the room with its creepy, silent aura.

After a minute, the figure spoke.

“I do not know why you do this” Katana questioned, her boots drumming against the floor as she circled his chair.

Deadshot hung his head in exhaustion, allowing his eyes to close ever so slightly.

_He could relax now. She was here._

_This is what he’d been waiting for._

“Nice of you…to show up” Deadshot paced himself, grunting as a throbbing pain washed over his body again.

Katana pursed her lips in disapproval, stopping on the spot so she could drink in the sight.

_She was the personification of professional and ‘stiff,’ scaring all those who sought to defy her,_ Deadshot mused, _And even those who didn’t._

The assassin held an ominous presence, and she knew it.

A lethal weapon equipped with a lethal weapon.

Twice as deadly.

Not to be crossed.

And so on so forth…

All Deadshot cared about was that she was trust-worthy.

Sure, she worked for the higher ups now, but in reality, she was one of them. He’d seen her in action. Putting away bad guys and lopping off heads if Waller so much as frowned at someone.

He’d seen her in action. Putting away bad guys and lopping off heads if Waller so much as frowned at someone.

But that didn’t mean she was loyal to the cause.

She could think for herself when she had to.

Or at least he hoped she could.

He supposed now was the time to test that theory...

“You achieve nothing” Katana interrupted, sunny as ever.

Deadshot moaned, then, rolled his head around to meet her gaze.

“I’m talkin’ to you, aren’t I?”

Katana frowned, considering this.

“You cause trouble to speak with me?” Katana questioned.

“Yeah…”

“Why?”

Deadshot sighed.

“Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. You need to stop asking _me_ questions, so I can ask _you_ a few.”

Katana placed a hand on her hip.

“This is a meeting?”

She didn’t seem happy.

_It wasn’t professional,_ Deadshot could practically hear her thinking.

“Yeah, it’s a meeting. Now stop talkin, damn it”

Katana glared at Deadshot, her hand resting closer to the sword on her hip.

Deadshot watched her with ease. He was glad she couldn’t monitor his heart rate.

“I need you to tell me where Boomerang’s at” Deadshot began.

Katana blinked in surprise, beginning to pace back in her circle as she weighed the question in her mind.

“What makes you think I would know?”

This time, it was Deadshot’s turn to level an unamused stare at Katana.

“Like you don’t know…”

Katana met his gaze with a frigid one of her own, “I do not talk about these things”

“He’s one of us!” Deadshot burst, angry that she could hold back the information.

“He is a criminal” Katana corrected.

“And you aren’t?” Deadshot delivered a fiery glare.

Without so much as a second glance, Katana whirled on the spot and headed for the door.

“WAIT!” Deadshot pleaded.

Something in his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You must know what they’re doing to him…” Deadshot tried. “We could all be next…”

Katana kept her back to him, her eyes raking the metal door in front of her for answers. Her lips were sealed…but they were bursting at the seams.

“I-” she hesitated.

_This was wrong._

“Come on, Katana. He's your friend. Saved your life, I bet. You owe him something” Deadshot charmed, voice remaining genuine.

_The truth sure does get a lot out of people. Especially, the good guys._

The assassin’s shoulders bowed down in a sign of resignation.

“He is being held in basement” Katana revealed.

Deadshot nodded, even though he already knew that particular fact. She would start slow. The details would come _naturally_.

Katana remained silent.

_Maybe not…_

“What’s Waller doin with him?” Deadshot prompted, almost leaning forward on the edge of his seat.

“Experiments” Katana replied in a hushed tone.

She still hadn’t faced him.

_This was shameful. She was betraying the organization._

_And yet, if she did not tell the truth, she would be betraying her friends._

The inaction she’d already displayed in not helping Boomerang was enough of a guilty sentence. She was a bad guy, through and through. The mask didn't conceal anything, really.

Katana bowed her head.

“What kinda experiments?” Deadshot pushed.

“I was not granted access to room” Katana admitted, finally turning to face him.

She wore a look of guilt so uncharacteristic, that Deadshot almost felt sorry for her.

“D’you think we could get him outta there?” Deadshot replied after a pause.

“No” came her instantaneous answer.

Deadshot bit his swollen lip, “Can _you_ get him out of there?”

“Why do you ask this of me?” Katana demanded suddenly.

Her hand was near her sword again.

Deadshot’s eyes remained focused on hers. He didn’t want to lose her now.

“He needs a friend on the _inside_ , Katana. None of us can help him…None of us except…” Deadshot implied, leaving his statement hanging.

Katana shook her head vigourously, as if doing so would shake the words back out of her head.

“NO” she snapped, turning back to the door.

“Just consider it!” Deadshot called, straining against his straps as she stormed out.

“He’d do it for you!”

The door slammed shut.

Well, at least he’d tried.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more canon in this chapter, i had a spout of creativity running the direction of my words, regardless that they didn't tie in with the comics. Hopefully, it still remains to be a fun read (if you can call it that)...There is a LOT of angst in this chapter and will be quite dark (i'm warning you!) I know the thought processes of Boomerang drift around a lot but i'm blaming that on the drugs he's on. Also, as for updates, i realize they are nowhere near as constant, but i will update this story as much as possible. I won't leave it to rot, i promise. Please keep the reviews coming, it pushes me to write more! Anyway, that's enough of my rambling, go read the chapter!

Misery and rage went hand in hand as far as he was concerned.

Misery provoked change, change demanded action, action required passion and passion became rage.

But when the rage took over, when it couldn’t be stopped, when he went too far and did something worth regretting…That’s when shame came along. Followed by sorrow. And finally, misery.

It really wasn’t a surprise to Boomerang, to find himself contemplating both sides of the spectrum as he lay, chained to a blood-soaked table like an animal. Stuck beneath the flickering light of a single bulb.

He deserved it, though. Deserved all of it.

It was under his own momentum that he’d reached this situation.

Under his own selfish greed and false sense of immortality.

_If he’d just taken the fork in the road... If he’d tried a little harder... If he’d bothered to give two shits about his family…_

Waller’s statement still strummed a chord deep within him. He couldn’t let it go.

No matter how much he tried to shrug it off. Or shut it out. 

He had to admit, ditching the squad was one thing. 

But when it concerned family…

When family needed you…

It was _his_ responsibility. The _only_ one he absolutely had to meet as a man and a father, if nothing else.

Just to be there, to provide what he could. To do his job as a dad.

But somehow, he’d failed that too.

Boomerang shivered, a whine breaking from his lips.

_This had to be the lowest moment of his life._

He couldn’t hide the anguish any more. It was written on his face. Seared into his soul.

_It’s not like he had to hide it anyway…there was nobody there to watch him suffer._

No one left to sympathize with him. No one there to support him. No one to care.

And why?

Because he was a prick. That’s why.

He’d tried the whole ‘being good’ act when he’d been younger. Tried going to school, combing his hair, being polite to his elders.

But circumstance hadn’t allowed him to blossom into a good guy.

Sure, he could’ve thought twice about his actions _and_ the consequences. It wasn’t like he couldn’t work at a gas station forever and earn money the hard, boring way.

But with what he’d been taught…with what he had seen…with everything that had happened. Playing the boring, good guy, simply wasn’t his destiny.

And so, he’d walked the crooked line. For more of his life than he could even remember.

It hadn’t been his decision to dive into that world, though… It had been his mother’s.

Sure, aim for the blame game. That was what they all said, right?

Mommy issues? Daddy issues? Yeah, get in line. 

Did that give him the right to be an asshole? To become a criminal? To leave his son behind?

Of course it fucking didn't.

But he had.

And though he was 100% at fault, his past hadn't exactly aided his judgment either. Every decision was based on one idea or another, one lesson that had been learned, inappropriate or not. Right or wrong.

Abandonment wasn't just felt or done. It was learned.

From a young age, he'd learned to walk away from situations like this. Just like his father. And his mother. Practically anyone in his proximity, really.

Got a problem? Can't fix it?

Leave.

Problem solved.

Of course, stealing helped to fix a situation too.

For example:

Starving because your mom didn't pay the bills?

Steal something to eat.

Angry because you failed another test and your step-dad will greet you with a belt?

Steal a car and get the hell out of dodge.

The options had always been there for him. No one had told him not to. No one had given him the opportunity to see things a different way, to feel that what he was doing wasn't deserved.

Because, why wouldn't a seven-year-old deserve food? Even if it wasn't his? Didn't he deserve to eat too?

Why would an eight-year-old go home for a beating? Why would he try harder in school if mum thought you were going nowhere but six feet under?

Why wouldn't he leave a shit situation when he'd learned it was the best form of self-defense?

You can't kill what you can't pin down.

And so, anything that made him feel the slightest bit uneasy, sent him heading in the opposite direction.

 

Waller didn’t know him as well as she thought.

Sure, the files contained a majority of the facts: portrayed him as the bad guy he was. Even knew the truth about his real father.

But they didn’t know that he’d gotten into theft on behalf of his mother.

Like he'd said earlier, this whole life-style had been because of her.

All because she’d been too ill to whore herself out to the new big, bad guy in town.

That, at the age of nine, he’d needed to run a few cons of his own, just so he could scrounge up some money for pills. His aim, to get his mother back on her feet.

It had cost him his innocence.

Of course, it had.

_How many nine-year-old’s did that shit anyway? It wasn’t like there’d been a list of suspects to choose from._

Besides, if you pulled a stunt like that in a small town, people were bound to notice.

Poor little George hadn’t seen it coming.

And so he’d gone and got himself a rap sheet. While other kids were getting colouring books and learning how to ride a bike.

George hadn’t been like other kids. He was special. Always had been.

So was his mother.

She’d had a great way of showing her appreciation too.

Just snatched up the pills with a grunt and stumbled into the trailer.

_Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what she’d done. Hadn’t even said thanks._

Boomerang could still see her now.

And the worst part was, she hadn’t intended to come back.

He’d waited and waited for her to return. Had almost picked the thread-bare sofa apart in the time it had taken for little George to notice something was off.

So he’d knocked on her door. Waited for an answer. Even called her ‘ma’am’ cause she was special like that.

But she hadn’t responded.

So, little George had wandered in.

The saliva had still been foaming at her mouth. A tremor raking its way down her arms.

An overdose.

He’d patted her cheek, shaken her shoulders, called her name until he was crying.

_How should he know what to do? No one had prepared him for this._

If they thought a kid could go back to school after seeing that shit, they’d be dead wrong.

After watching his mother being carted off to hospital, covered in wires while a pimp followed her every footstep, he’d walked in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t like she'd wanted company. She obviously didn’t care about him. Had tried to run the first chance she'd gotten.

His own mother didn’t care.

No one else had since. No one ever would.

Even _he_ had stopped caring.

About everything.

Everyone.

Well… _almost_ everyone.

Boomerang closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut his brain off.

This was what Waller did.

Just left a small crack in the egg and waited for the goo to spill out.

It always started with one memory. Just one.

But that didn’t mean it would end there. Once it started, it couldn’t be stopped.

It was like a dam had been broken.

Starting with Owen.

In Boomerang’s mind, that cheeky little smile was still plastered to his face. Those bright blue eyes twinkling in joyous excitement. His small hands clutching for his side burns and ripping at his chest hair until he made a face of pain.

For a moment, Owen would look scared, then, he’d giggle.

Boomerang’s heart tugged painfully in his chest. Then he let out a long moan.

_What. Had. He. Done…_

_Owen deserved more._

_That lil’ tyke hadn’t had a childhood ‘cause of him. He’d also never shared a birthday with him, never blown out those candles and made a wish, never sat him on his shoulders, never taught him how to swim or ride a bike or tie his shoes, never heard him call his name, never raced home after work to see the pictures on the fridge, never accompanied him in the truck after a fishing trip, never swung a bat after he’d thrown the ball..._

_None of that, father-son shit, applied to them._

_And he couldn’t change it. Couldn’t save him. Couldn’t fix ‘them’._

Boomerang wanted to shake his fists in frustration. Wanted to punch a wall. Kick a rock. Rain a whole ton of fury down on the next living soul he happened to meet.

But he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t even twitch.

They’d strapped him down so tightly after that last round that he could barely breathe.

So he lay there, brooding. Seething.

Continuously fueling his core with the wall of rage he felt inside.

At them, at her, at himself.

It kept him running strong.

And somehow, though he knew it was making him…stronger…it was also taking away the good things.

Trading strength for identity.

He could feel it the transformation taking over now.

After all those treatments, all those needles, all the questions and answers and prods and pokes. The coded messages. The hidden orders.

It was slowly taking its toll. Taking over his mind. Using memories as incentives.

Sculpting him into something he wasn’t.

Someone, he wasn’t.

‘Therapy’ had one hell of a price.

But it was too late now. There was no going back. No fighting back.

He was losing his mind. Losing the will. Losing everything.

All he had left was his memories, and they certainly weren’t helping matters.

If he could concentrate for long enough, he might even realize that perhaps Waller wanted him to get lost on memory lane. That way, it prevented him from focusing…from fighting.

And so, Owen it was.

Boomerang slipped back into the fog he called his mind.

_Oh God, he’d fucked up big._

_He’d abandoned his kid. You couldn’t do much worse than that…_

Waller had been right. This kind of ‘lowlife’ shit ran in his family.

He was no better than any of them. In fact, he was worse…

Just as Boomerang began to scrape the bottom of his conscience, a buzz sounded at the door.

He didn’t bother to hide the emotion on his face as Waller walked in.

_What would be the point? She’d already cracked him. Had already seen him give in. There was nothing left to hide._

“I’m here to offer you a solution” Waller began immediately, pacing into the chamber and hanging over his bed.

Boomerang gazed at her through the haze of reality.

He’d retreated so far into his mind, beneath the shroud of drugs and memories that even he wasn’t sure what was going on any more.

“We can end all of this now. You just have to say, yes” Waller enticed, her voice unusually soothing.

_There had to be more to it than that…_

“Whadaya wan’ fr’mme?” Boomerang groaned, his voice coming out in a jumble of words.

He just wanted this to end.

“I want your obedience. Your skills. Your unquestioning loyalty” Waller replied, blunt as ever.

Boomerang let out a grating sigh.

He didn’t want her to win.

Not that he could stop her…

But still, giving in completely, wasn’t something he liked to do.

At least running away meant he could live to fight another day. That he still had the option to do something more. That he had control of himself and his actions, even if they were bad ones.

Sure, he’d given his consent to do whatever _this_ was…maybe not at first, but eventually. With the realization that he'd earned it. That it had been coming for a long time.

And so, he’d allowed it.

But now that she was asking for his will...not just torturing him for the things he'd done...now it was time to take back the reins.

He still didn’t have to say, yes.

Even if she went ahead and did whatever it was she wanted to do, anyway. Which she probably would.

The act of making him say, yes, was something that he still held power over.

That he could control.

This wasn't about punishment any more. This was about beating a dead dog. 

Boomerang wasn't about that life.

So he sealed his lips.

Call him stubborn. Call him indecisive. It didn’t matter.

Waller had already held him as a prisoner. Now, she had him as a patient. He didn't need to stoop to the victim.

 

So, no. He wouldn’t throw it all away. Despite his earlier capacity to do so. If saying, yes, meant that he would no longer be Boomerang, that he could no longer pay for his crimes, that he could no longer suffer for what he’d done, then fuck her.

He would never say yes to that.

Waller shrugged her shoulders, seeming nonchalant about Boomerang's refusal.

She circled his bed in a casual fashion, hands clasped tidily behind her back, oozing a woman of stature. She stopped as she reached the foot of the bed, her eyes boring down at his.

Boomerang defiantly flicked his gaze to the left.

It was the best, 'fuck you,' that he could manage right now.

“Audite [Listen]” she whispered.

A peculiar sensation suddenly overcame Boomerang’s body.

It began in his chest, radiating out until it filled his whole body with a vibrating energy. Like dull electricity without the snap but with as much force.

Accompanying this, came an off-set buzzing in the back of his skull. It naturally made his eyes widen and force him to grate his teeth together.

Hair standing on end, skin crawling with fever, Boomerang lay still in wait.

For what, he didn’t know.

Yet, somehow, he did.

He was waiting for the next command. Or at least his body was.

He could feel it. The tension.

Boomerang was just a passenger on this ride. He just happened to have the best (and worst) view in the whole, god-damn prison.

“Quaerere [Look]” Waller continued, ignorant towards Boomerang's inner struggles.

Without reason, Boomerang felt an instinctual urge to look Waller in the eye.

It was an urge he simply couldn’t resist.

His eyes were set on her before a protest could even enter his mind. Not that it would have done any good.

Waller smirked lightly.

“Iterum post I [Repeat after me]” Waller commanded, a maddening gaze burning behind the blacks of her eyes.

A knot began to form in Boomerang’s stomach. It echoed the kind of intense regret a person might get when they know there’s no going back and no fixing things.

“Yes” Waller guided.

Boomerang could feel his tongue moving to cooperate.

He tried to bite down on it.

Tried to hold his breath.

Neither attempt succeeded.

“Yes” he answered.

Waller’s smirk broadened to a sickening smile.

She could have easily gone ahead with her plans, perhaps, sedating her unwilling victim.

But no. That would be too easy.

She'd had to win him over.

Take control.

Prove a point.

Boomerang was hers to command.

And now he knew it too.

Waller barely hid the flare of satisfaction on her face before turning back to the shadows to hang in the doorway, nodding once for _them_ to enter.

Boomerang focused on Waller’s face as the men swarmed into the room, hefting equipment left and right.

He didn’t want to know what was about to happen.

“I promise you, once this is over, you will be a new man” Waller assured, stepping into the background, out of the way.

Boomerang kept his eyes trained onto her, trying to glare but not quite making it.

Waller winked, “Don’t die on me” she ordered, then left the room.

Boomerang let out a rattling sigh, turning his sights back to the ceiling and then closing his eyes.

He was entering a new chapter of his life. Whether it was for the better or the worse…

It wasn’t up to him any more.

Maybe that was a good thing. He hadn’t made a worthwhile footprint as Boomerang anyway...

And so the spiral continued.

Fighting for his life, then, giving it all up in a split second.

That was who he was now.

At least he had a valid excuse for his behaviour now.

“It wasn't him."

It was Waller.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you all for your patience, i have a lot going on in the month of September, so yeah...delays. But i'm glad you guys are still reading and reviewing; i appreciate it!!!! This chapter sits on the verge of a lot of confrontational action, so sorry if it seems like a buffer chapter. But it does contain a bit of Kaboom (if you squint).
> 
> Also, side note: If your find a repeated sentence, please let me know so i can erase it. Reading a repeated sentence really disrupts the story, so i'd rather someone tell me than finding it myself a few days later. Just, fyi, the repeats occur as a result of editing and although i usually find them, there is a lot of text to sift through.
> 
> Anyway, enough of me. Enjoy!

“I request an audience with Waller”

The guard eyed the assassin up and down, his eyes squinting with suspicion.

“And why’s that?” he demanded, fingers stiffening around his gun.

Katana noticed the guard’s caution but remained stoic.

“Classified” she droned.

He would never let her pass if he found out that Deadshot had sent her. Some things were best left unsaid. Or as the higher-ups liked to call it, “Classified.”

The guard shifted uncomfortably, debating his options.

On the one hand, he could challenge her (and lose) …On the other hand, he could allow her safe passage and die a painful death via Waller’s hands instead.

Either way, he was screwed.

“She’s busy” the guard chose instead.

_It wasn’t a lie…_

“I need to meet with her” Katana pressed, not giving an inch.

“She’s busy” the guard repeated, stern as ever.

Katana peered through the window beyond the guard. The door that sealed the far end of the hallway had been bolted shut and locked down, there were also three guards posted outside; each man carrying a deadly combination of lethal weapons.

But that wasn’t the most interesting part.

Every once in a while, a flicker of blue light would escape the gap beneath the door.

There was no sound accompanying it.

Katana narrowed her eyes and looked back to the guard.

“You will let me pass” she insisted.

The guard squared his shoulders and met her strong gaze, “If you start making problems for me, Waller'll start making problems for you” he warned, “So move it or lose it!”

Katana’s jaw jutted out in defiance.

She would not back down from this lowly prison guard. He did not have the authority to make her do anything. Only Waller and Flag could do that.

And on some days, they too, could not control her.

Katana gripped the sword at her waist, ready for a confrontation.

She noticed a second guard slowly moving his right hand towards his gun. He would not reach it in time. She knew this.

“I will see Waller now” Katana promised, taking a step forth.

The guards drew their guns.

In a split second reflex, Katana withdrew her sword, raised it high, and with one quick sweep, sliced the two rising guns in half.

The guards were left aiming two useless hunks of metal at the assassin, blinking rapidly and swallowing like fish.

A few seconds passed.

“She’s at the end of the hall” the second guard quaked, stepping back to swipe his key through the door.

Katana did not thank the man. Nor did she sheath her sword.

As soon as the door was open, Katana was marching down the hallway, boots stomping against the cold, concrete floor.

The blue lighting continued to flicker across her features, setting the upcoming guards on edge as her ominous shadow approached them from the darkness.

“Who’s there?” one guard’s voice boomed out.

Katana did not answer.

“State your business!” the second guard demanded, hand drawing for his weapon.

Again, Katana did not answer. If anything, she increased her pace.

The trio of guards shuffled nervously, the barrels of their guns searching the long dark hallway for the looming shadow.

By the time Katana reached the lone lighting fixture at the end of the hall, the guards had managed to focus their weapons at her head.

Katana remained mute despite their intent to kill.

“Why are you here?” the third guard questioned, not lowering his gun for a second.

“To see Waller” Katana informed, blinking down the sights of the gun, then gazing up at the frightened man who held it.

“You can’t do that” one guard argued.

“She’s busy” another added.

Katana looked the three men over.

 _Pathetic_.

“Open the door” Katana demanded, her sword hanging low, for now.

“You don’t have the authority-”

Katana raised her sword to the challenger’s throat, pressing him back against the door. The remaining guards had been too slow to follow her movement at first, but now, they were trained back on her head.

Katana ignored them.

“You will open this door” Katana seethed.

“We can’t!” the vulnerable guard yelped, highly aware of the sharp steel pressed against his jugular.

“Waller said nobody has access beyond this door. That includes you” a bold guard reprimanded.

Katana gave the man a split second glance.

“Waller will want to meet with me” Katana stated firmly.

The guards looked to one another, obviously at war with themselves.

“If you do not open the door, I will” Katana promised.

There was a pause of silence, then, a nod.

“Fine…but this is on you if things go south. _You_ were the one who threatened us. _You_ were the one who interrupted” one guard ranted, making it clear that he didn’t want to be responsible.

“I will tell Waller you were compliant” Katana comforted, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

The guard held his tongue and swiped the key through the lock; punching a few digits into a pass-code before unbolting the third and fourth locks.

He stepped aside as the door began to swing open.

Waving his arm, the guard gestured for Katana to proceed.

“After you…”

Katana controlled the urge to roll her eyes, instead, marching forth into a second chamber.

What she saw next was alarming.

Ahead of her lay a steel table, a static tv and a silver tray coated with sharp, surgical equipment.

At first glance, the area seemed clean. Almost washed down.

But as Katana drew closer, the crimson stains slowly began to reveal themselves. Colouring each sharp blade and every stitch of the straps with the eerie, dried out liquid.

It had been a blood bath.

Though she’d normally dwell on such disturbing evidence, a flash of blue light dragged Katana’s attention to the opposite side of the chamber.

A short burst of light was all the assassin needed to pick out the remaining trail of wires. She noticed how they began at the corner of the bed, then, dangled down towards the floor, heading for the wall.

Although they led nowhere, Katana was sure they once held a cruel purpose.

A flash of white drew Katana’s attention back to the lone screen at the foot of the bed. Upon closer inspection, she could pick out the small droplets of blood on its face.

She could only imagine what it had been used for. A similar sentiment rang true for the pristine appearance of each sharpened blade lying neatly on the tray to her right.

They seemed unnaturally clean. As if someone had obsessively maintained them. Taken pride in their use...

Katana withheld the shiver that raced up her spine.

Now she finally knew the truth of this place. What they did here...

Waller couldn’t deny her involvement now.

It was all right here in front of her.

All of it except…

Katana raked the remained of the chamber with her eyes, searching for the key figure she’d expected to meet.

 _Boomerang_.

Though the name struck a chord in her chest, Katana refused to dwell on it. _Labels solved nothing._

She was merely concerned for the safety of her friend. Her teammate.

The stubborn, self-centered Aussie who never committed to anything unless there was a reward.

And yet, he had saved her, once. Dragged her out of the line of fire.

Locked eyes with her in that way he did when he was being serious.

Katana remembered the moment well.

She owed him one.

He was a friend in need of saving. That was all.

“Guards!” Katana beckoned.

A scuffle of noise could be heard from the edge of the chamber, just beyond the door.

Katana turned around the greet them.

But the guards weren't there.

Someone else was instead.

Her eyes widened as they locked onto a different target.

Waller.

“What are you doing here?” Waller demanded.

Katana felt the urge to bow in greeting. This time, she did not.

“Where is Boomerang?” Katana questioned, bluntly.

“That’s none of your business” Waller declared, tucking the clipboard under her arm.

Katana noticed it had similar red specks on the corner.

An anger began to boil in the assassin's gut.

“He is part of the team” Katana argued.

“He is part of _my_ team” Waller corrected.

Katana levelled a hard stare at her boss.

Waller stood her ground easily enough, “You will return to your post. Now”

The simple statement held the uncanny ability to threaten the assassin without actually doing so.

“You owe me an explanation” Katana wore on, standing her ground.

Waller’s left eye twitched.

“I don’t owe you shit” Waller snapped, dropping the professionalism.

Katana blinked.

_She was known to be ruthless, not polite._

Katana squared her shoulders, embodying determination.

“Unless you want to become a part of this operation, I suggest you leave. Immediately” Waller ordered, slowly wandering into the assassin’s personal space.

Katana bit the inside of her cheeks but otherwise remained calm.

“I won’t warn you a second time…” Waller growled.

Katana stood her ground a moment longer.

She needed answers.

_Boomerang was in trouble. He needed her help._

_But Waller was in the way..._

Threatening Waller for answers wouldn't accomplish anything. If anything, it would get her locked up like Boomerang. Then, she wouldn't be able to help any one.

But she couldn't just give up.

Waller was behind all of this and she needed to be stopped.

The only way to do that was to back off. Regroup. Go under the radar for more answers.

If the time came to confront Waller, then so be it.

But it wasn't right now.

Boomerang's life may be at stake, but if she pissed Waller off, Boomerang could die instantly.

Waller had leverage here.

Katana dipped her head slightly, consenting to Waller's command.

She would obey.

For now.

* * *

 

Waller watched the Katana leave, multiple guards in tow. Obviously, she couldn’t risk leaving the assassin unattended now that she knew the truth. Or at least, part of the truth.

She would have to be weary from this point onwards… She didn’t need a prison-wide riot led by the star of her personal task squad. Not when she was this close to her goal.

As soon as Katana passed through the final door at the end of the hallway, Waller turned to her personal guard.

“Bring him back” she ordered, her voice low.

The guard nodded, then, departed for the stairs.

As she waited, Waller found herself drifting into thought. There were still a few things left to be done after all…

Such as tweaking the prompts and triggers set in Boomerang’s mind.

They were a necessity towards having an obedient soldier and she didn’t need any fuck ups when things started to roll into motion.

Just a few code words set into place. A list of targets and profiles. A kill switch.

The usual.

Other than that…Operation Alpha was ready to proceed.

Not that she was in any rush. There was no point in ruining the final touches when you had all the time in the world. All the power.

Besides, she liked to savour the situation. Watch things in slow motion. Enjoy the fun.

It took a psychopath to know one.

Waller smiled, heading back into the chamber and taking a seat. Once she was comfortable, Waller dipped back into his files, measuring how far he had come. 

It was unfortunate that the squad wouldn’t see things the same way.

Boomerang was _almost_ the perfect soldier now. Granted, it had taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears (on his part) but now he was _finally_ rising up to the challenge. It would be a downright disaster if they were to be too hasty and ruin all that they had accomplished together.

Waller looked up as the sound of footsteps neared her position. 

She could still hear the familiar scraping sound of boots being dragged along the concrete. Boomerang was currently dead to the world.

Not that it mattered. He was better off this way.

Waller grinned once more as Boomerang was delivered into her clutches. Now, the fun could begin.

She stepped back to watch the proceedings, counting the seconds with excitement.

The confrontation lay only hours away.

She had no doubt that Boomerang would fulfill his end of the bargain; not that he had much of a choice. _Literally_.

And the Squad would have to play along with her little game whether they liked it or not.

The only thing left to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

Waller could barely wait.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I wrote an extra long chapter with a lot of action with a dashing of feels. I hope it lives up to the climactic confrontation i've been talking about. If you find any errors in this, it's because i didn't have much time to edit it, so feel free to let me know if you find any and i will come back to fix them. Enjoy the read!

Raining.

That’s all it had been doing for the past 8 hours.

Raining and thundering. Plus, the odd strike of lightening.

On a normal day, the storm might be considered frightening; what with the gale force winds, black skies and tornado warnings circling the area.

But today was not a normal day.

Today, was yard day.

No matter what the weather was, every convict was pumped and ready for yard day. Or they would have been if not for the lock down.

* * *

 

Cool rain drops slid down metal grated, glass windows as each member of the squad shuffled along the hallway to their regular meet up spot.

The yard beyond the windows was currently being drenched in the downpour, each dust beaten plant now suffering the full force of three months worth of stored rain.

It made them thirsty just looking at it.

The last week alone had been particularly brutal in regards to heat.

Considering that the air conditioning had decided to bust a few days prior to a record high heat wave, the humidity levels in each, individual cell had managed to soar to all time highs.

Those that couldn’t tolerate the heat had been relegated to sleeping in cramped quarters of the dingy basement, under close watch and without privileges due to the risky environment.

Even those that _could_ tolerate the heat were left in pitiful condition thanks to the cranky guards who had been layered in thick protective gear, despite the heat.

So yeah, the mood was brittle.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the squad _still_ hadn’t found out where their loveable mutt had been dragged off to.

 _And_ Katana had disappeared!

Just like that!

 _After_ everything _they’d said to her. Everything they’d done for her, with her. They had believed in her. Trusted her._

_And she had abandoned them._

Essentially, Katana had put the last nail in the coffin. _Then again, that’s what assassins did._

Deadshot gritted his teeth as he slowed to a stop, waiting for the guards to open the following door. He peered out of the nearby window, hungrily watching the rain cascade down its face.

_This was beyond unfair._

_This was bullshit._

_After everything they’d been through, they couldn’t even go outside to enjoy the rain._

_Because it was “too dangerous.”_

_Did they know who they were talking to?_

Deadshot felt a rough hand shove him forwards, a voice ordering him to move. He gritted his teeth together again, hands curling into fists.

“Shove me again an’ I’ll take your head off” Deadshot growled.

He wasn’t gonna play Mr Nice Guy today.

_‘Cause, fuck it._

He felt like a boiled whale that was inches from the sea, but no one was letting him swim in it.

The guard shoved Deadshot once more, a sneer on his lips.

A challenge.

Deadshot froze, bristling in anticipation.

_So the prick enjoyed the feeling of power, did he?_

Deadshot could show him what real power was…

He didn’t regret what happened next.

Nor did he mind that he might be late for a little R&R with the squad.

A busted lip and a sore knee was worth it, especially when you could pay it forwards. A psychiatrist had once told him that letting off a little steam would be good for him.

True… that psychiatrist was a psychotic convict who just happened to be the girlfriend of a notorious, serial killing maniac… but hey, facts were facts.

He didn’t judge.

* * *

 

20 minutes later... 

Deadshot arrived for the cafeteria meeting; strolling in with a split lip, a slight limp and a broad smile as if nothing had happened.

He had been ready to greet the squad with as much energy as he could muster, regardless of the guards’ at his back.

The thought of free pie had aided his optimism…

But, the second Deadshot stepped foot inside the room, all of his best-laid plans went to shit.

_Why, you might ask?_

Well, it was simple.

They had a visitor.

An _unexpected_ visitor.

There, seated at the center of the table was Boomerang.

He seemed calm enough; the neutral expression on his face, attesting to that. However, his gaze was centered in the mid-distance, on nothing, pupils vacant and dilated.

Boomerang’s arms lay limply at his sides, too, as if he had nothing to fight for. As if someone had taken the wind out of his sails…or kicked the wind out of his lungs.

Deadshot frowned, drawing closer.

Though there was no evidence of an injury or any hidden distress, the lack of emotion on Boomerang’s face foretold of something more sinister.

It wasn’t like Boomerang to be quiet and composed. The guy wore his heart on his sleeve, challenged anything and anyone that looked at him funny and paced up and down to no end because he was a restless, twitchy motherfucker.

So, yeah. Something was _definitely_ wrong with Boomerang.

As Deadshot quietly crossed the last few feet to the table, the squad gave their divided attention; greeting him with mere nods or troubled sounding ‘hey’s.’

An air of caution hung about the squad, poisoning the static air with paranoid questions and unvoiced concerns. The fact that they all remained at a relatively safe distance from Boomerang stated that they didn’t entirely trust their own team member right now.

And that was saying something.

“You wanna explain this?” Deadshot began, questioning any one who would answer.

Despite Deadshot’s commanding voice, Boomerang remained as comatose as ever; motionless with a hint of psycho.

Deadshot shivered inwardly.

_He hadn’t even seen the Aussie blink yet…_

“He came in like this” Diablo informed, clicking his fingers near Boomerang’s face.

Boomerang didn’t even twitch.

Deadshot frowned, “No shit?”

He paused in front of the food laden table, ignoring it in favour of more significant problems.

Pressing his palms out against the table top, Deadshot leant across the buffet to get a closer, more intimate glance at Boomerang.

The Aussie didn’t react at having his personal space invaded.

That sign alone was a guarantee that something was wrong. Boomerang would have ripped his head off under normal circumstances, friend or not.

Boomerang was the intimidator, not the intimidatee…

“Has he said anything?” Deadshot murmured, eyes raking every inch of Boomerang for clues.

Harley shook her head, “Hasn’t talked at all” she sighed, shaking her head as she bit at a fingernail.

Under Deadshot’s rising eyebrow, Harley slumped back in her chair, “I already tried makin ‘im talk. I tried _everythin_. Trust me”

Diablo nodded in Deadshot’s periphery, confirming the fact.

As Deadshot stood back, unsatisfied by his own assessments of Boomerang, his eyes drifted back to Harley.

She was reclined back in her chair, legs crossed, head cocked, eyes squinting and left hand tapping. She seemed impatient. Frustrated.

Because she hadn’t cracked the case.

Deadshot smirked lightly. He could practically see a doctor’s uniform on Harley.

It was all in the way she stared. Analyzed. Critiqued.

Though she was a criminal now, the psychiatrist had never left her persona. People never credited her for her intelligence. All they ever saw was the monster.

As if prompted by Deadshot’s complimentary inner monologue, Harley sat up further in her chair and redirected her attention to the hitman.

“I’m bettin’ they drugged ‘im to the gills and threw ‘im in here ta mingle” Harley deduced, “-Helps to bring those of a dissociative state towards interactive awareness”

Deadshot nodded, processing her analyses.

“And this is what they call mingling?” Deadshot scoffed, noting as Croc prodded Boomerang.

The Aussie remained a blank slate.

_He still hadn’t blinked._

Deadshot circled to the other side of the table and stooped down, dragging Boomerang’s chair back from the table so he could stare into the younger convict’s face.

His eyes held a certain, feverish shine; both pupils having dilated to the max. A bloodshot background lit his blue eyes with even more intensity than perhaps they normally would have been; giving him the look of an enraged, emotional wreck.

 _His hair was streaked with sweat and grease too,_ Deadshot mused, though he supposed _that_ was the result of Boomerang’s lacking hygiene rather than a symptom of his health.

Although Deadshot couldn’t see Boomerang’s limbs or torso beneath the long sleeved, orange jump suit, he suspected there were more clues to his friend’s behaviour hidden beneath.

_Not that he was gonna check…_

“Okay….i’m gonna try somethin” Deadshot warned, casting his arms wide so that the others couldn’t get close, “Y’all might wanna take a step back”

Croc grunted in obedience while Diablo nodded and obliged.

Harley, however, remained seated in close proximity.

“Whatchu gonna do?” she inquired, tone suggesting that she didn’t approve.

“I’m gonna knock some sense into him” Deadshot vowed.

Harley sat forward in her chair, “Okay”

Deadshot blinked. He hadn’t been expected that answer.

_Psychiatrists weren’t supposed to allow violence as therapy._

Then again, Harley was far from professional.

“He might come out of his shell” Deadshot warned, slightly flustered by her carelessness.

Harley nodded, “Go on, then” she challenged.

“Alright…” he gestured for her to step back.

“I ain’t goin anywhere, suga” Harley stated.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you” Deadshot muttered under his breath, turning back to Boomerang and raising a palm.

Without a second more of hesitation, Deadshot delivered a brutal slap to Boomerang’s left cheek.

Diablo and Croc even winced in sympathy.

Unfortunately, Boomerang remained the same; even as the pink imprint of a hand began to swell starkly against his skin…

“That’s fucked up” Deadshot muttered aloud, after a moment.

“Hey, at least he didn’t-“ Diablo began.

A sudden crackle from a radio sounded overhead.

All eyes drew up, towards the source.

A familiar voice stuttered out through the speakers after a minute or two.

It was Waller.

“Good afternoon, class” her chirpy voice introduced.

Harley rolled her eyes, flipping the bird.

Croc growled in unison.

Nobody was happy when Waller was happy.

Not that it bothered her.

“Today, we will be learning about the force of nature when it is paired with science” Waller continued, nonchalantly. “I urge you all to take notes…while you still have fingers” she added lowly.

The squad looked to one another for answers while Deadshot took a solid step forth.

“You did _not_ just threaten me” Deadshot retorted, pointing an accusatory finger to the lone camera.

He could feel her smiling behind the camera in victory. She was so damn smug, it was burning him up inside.

“Sixty…Whiskey…Alpha…” Waller stated.

It threw Deadshot’s temper off balance.

“Wha-”

The squad shared a unanimous expression of confusion.

The meaning of those words hadn’t sunken in yet.

“Mirror…Master…Mercer…” Waller bore on.

“The fuck?” Diablo hissed, fists curling up.

Deadshot glared at the single camera in the room, squaring himself up for God know’s what.

“A’ight guys, stay alert” he urged, sensing the danger.

He knew a set up when he saw one.

Harley quickly drew to her feet and snatched a fork from the table.

Croc rolled his neck and let out a growl.

Deadshot clenched his jaw and stepped away from the others.

_Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want to accidentally involve them in his own brand of mayhem._

“…Kourumburra…” Waller continued.

The tension in the room continued to spike. The eerie factor began to increase as Boomerang began to sag against the table.

“What’s he doin?” Deadshot asked Harley, not wanting to look for fear of being caught off guard.

Harley peered at Boomerang, unable to gather an answer from his strange behaviour.

She shrugged, “I don’t know…”

_Great._

_They were already boxed in, unprepared and down three squad members._

_Could it get any worse?_

“Rogues…Fifty-two…Blue”

Boomerang began to twitch and moan as Waller’s rant continued, hands clawing at the cloth of the table before knocking china plates to the floor with a crash.

As he waited for action, Deadshot couldn’t help but ponder the coincidence of her words and Boomerang’s change with the briefest of pouts.

It didn’t take the evil mastermind to draw a cause-effect relationship between her words and their impact.

_Waller was behind this._

That was enough of an incentive to kick ass.

“She’s doing this” Deadshot pieced together, “Somehow… _she’s_ behind this”

Harley, Croc and Diablo nodded in unison, as if they had reached the same conclusion.

“An’ what are we supposed ta do bout it?” Diablo challenged, feeling helpless.

Deadshot looked from Boomerang, then, to the speakers.

With a smile, he turned back to the team.

“Put that bitch on mute” he ordered, wishing he had a gun.

Taking the initiative, Harley immediately whirled her fork, end over end, at the speaker above.

Although the fork struck its intended target, it did nothing by way of silencing Waller. If anything, Waller seemed to talk louder.

Boomerang’s moans began to transition into whines of pain, his squirming becoming so intense that he dropped from his chair and continued to writhe on the floor.

Instinctively, Diablo crossed back over to his fallen comrade, kneeling down before Boomerang so he could draw him up to lie in his lap.

“You need to end this now, amigo!” Diablo pressed, trying to wrestle Boomerang into submission.

It didn’t work.

“Regret…Zero…Silence...” Waller listed, a smile in her voice.

Stepping atop the table, Deadshot whipped a couple of utensils at the speaker, hoping that one of his hits would dislodge or break the device.

Apparently, Waller had expected this, for the speaker remained intact.

With an unexpected roar, Croc picked up a chair and hurled it overhead, growling in satisfaction as it turned to kindling on impact.

But...you guessed it… the speaker remained safe and sound.

As the three active members of the team continued to ‘fight,’ Boomerang’s tremors continued to worsen; his eyes eventually rolling back into his head.

This was not how they wanted it to end.

A flicker in the lights told the squad of the storm still raging outside, a foreboding sign that they may soon be buried in darkness.

“Squad…Target… _Owen_ ” Waller finished.

And just like that, Boomerang relaxed.

For a moment, the squad assumed Waller had finally broken their man.

Technically, she already had.

Now, all that was left to do, was unleash the beast.

Boomerang slowly opened his eyes, peering up at Diablo with a frightening gaze.

“You okay, homie?” Diablo questioned, sincerity and concern radiating from his being.

With the slightest twitch, Boomerang let out a snarl and clawed at Diablo’s vest; capturing it in a tight grip before rolling out of the convict’s lap and reversing their positions. Boomerang on top, Diablo pinned to the floor.

By his neck.

Boomerang applied more pressure to Diablo’s windpipe as he naturally tried to fight back.

Through the wild swings and kicking legs, Boomerang held on tight; his blue eyes drilling into his friend’s with a bloodlust rivalling that of a hellhound.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch from docile to deadly.

And Diablo was staring at it.

Yes, ‘it.’

_This wasn’t Boomerang he was staring at. This wasn’t his friend._

_This was a monster._

Already, he forgave Boomerang for this little, _indiscretion_.

Now, if he could just survive the ordeal…

Summoning his inner core, Diablo began to heat his flesh to a smoulder state; hoping that Boomerang let go before he got seriously burnt.

Boomerang didn’t react.

Even as his hands began to blister from the heat.

Instead, the crazy, blue eyes remained fixed on their target.

It forced a pit of worry to build in Diablo’s gut, the burning question being, “ _What if this was it?”_

As Diablo fought for his life, Boomerang bent down into his personal space and began gnashing his teeth like a rabid dog, straining for a bite. There were even strings of saliva leaking down from his jaws; the ends of which hissed as they made contact with the smouldering surface of Diablo’s skin.

The traumatic experience brought about a revelation that Diablo had been avoiding; forcing him to reevaluate his hasty forgiveness.

_His friend was insane._

_Detached._

_Gone._

Seconds slowed into hours as Diablo swallowed the sad truth. As he stared into the pale eyes of a man beyond the edge, Diablo felt a rage grow inside him.

_He couldn’t see his friend like this. Thrilled by the pain. Hungry for bloodshed. Living without a soul._

And so Diablo, with a shattering cry borne of a loved one lost, he dialed up the heat.

He would have begged Boomerang to save himself if he wasn’t currently being choked to death.

But there was nothing he could do…

Suddenly, two large, pale hands appeared atop Boomerang’s collarbone, burying themselves into the orange jacket and wrenching the larger convict up and off Diablo’s struggling form.

Croc had come to the rescue.

As Diablo gasped for breath, Boomerang kicked himself back to his feet and surged at Croc, catching the creature head on and forcing him back a step or two.

It was almost unheard of to ‘force’ Croc into doing anything.

And yet, Boomerang had.

Raining down with a flurry of heavy fists, Boomerang used his quick movements and enhanced muscle to leave a few stunning blows to the side of Croc’s face.

Every time Croc paused to swing back, Boomerang landed another heavy hit on his temple or solar plexus, forcing him back and down.

It was as if Boomerang had stored his energy for such a confrontation. He wasn’t even tiring. If anything, each punch was landing harder and faster than the last.

With the dexterity of an assassin, Boomerang caught one of Croc’s few haymakers and twisted the arm out and back behind itself, forcing Croc to bend forward; seeking relief from the strain.

Boomerang used this new, vulnerable position to bring a knee up to Croc’s face. Then, while the creature was stunned, slammed a brutal fist into the side of his face and stepped back, allowing Croc to tip forwards, face first into the concrete floor.

Croc let out a low moan of defeat as pain caught up with his list of injuries.

But it wasn’t over yet.

While his attention was diverted, Deadshot and Harley had taken the opportunity to step in.

Having used the precious few seconds between the beginning of the fight and the ‘end,’ to secure a possible weapon (aka, a broken chair leg), Deadshot confidently stepped up behind Boomerang and, with as much force as he could muster, cracked the ‘weapon’ off Boomerang’s back.

Without sparing a glance at his new attacker, Boomerang reached back, grabbed Deadshot by the collar and hurled him at the table; his renewed strength being enough to flip Deadshot onto his back and splinter the plates and glasses lying prettily upon the table.

Temporarily stunned, Deadshot lay where he had landed, wincing as he pulled numerous, tiny slivers of porcelain from his neck while shaking glass from his head.

As Boomerang returned his attention to the first recovering member, Harley swept in with a sliding kick along the floor, knocking both legs out from beneath her friend.

As Boomerang landed on his back, Harley rolled on top, throwing a knee into his gut and slamming a whole turkey dinner down on his forehead.

Though it bounced off comically, the hit had been hard enough to crack Boomerang’s head back against the concrete floor.

Harley supposed she would have felt guilty about the whole thing if Boomerang hadn’t been trying to kill her teammates.

But he had.

So…

This was a once in a life-time opportunity to kick ass.

 _It was a mystery as to why the guards hadn’t come in to stop the fight yet_ , Harley mused.

Unfortunately, this moment of distraction had cost Harley, dearly.

Seemingly recharged by the last hit, Boomerang snapped back up to meet Harley; using his head as a weapon this time by ramming his forehead into her nose and breaking it instantly.

As blood began to cascade down her orange jump-suit, Boomerang dragged himself to his feet, grabbed Harley by her pigtails and shoved her down to the floor, using his weight to keep her there.

As Harley fought desperately to free herself, a wall of orange flame sprang out from one corner of the room.

El Diablo was back.

With a table of fire…in the hands of a pale, bleeding crocodilian monster.

It was an ominous sight to behold.

If anyone had been looking.

Boomerang hadn’t.

 _Good_.

A flying table, alight with burning fury abruptly slammed into Boomerang from the side, sending him sprawling away from his latest victim.

Unfortunately, Boomerang used this momentum, rolling away from the flames and into an animal like crouch, baring his teeth at the unexpected attackers.

A pinprick of blood had slowly begun to slide down Boomerang’s temple and into his left eye, enhancing his already psychotic appearance.

“Leave her alone!” Diablo roared, firing another table, _literally_.

Boomerang rolled to the side this time, avoiding the projectile with practised ease, as if he had incorporated the maneuver into his combat tactics…

Diablo tensed.

_He preferred the sarcastic, lude, taunting Boomerang. Not whatever, this, was._

It was hard to remind himself that this was not his friend he was fighting. Waller had done something to him. Transformed him. Blinded him.

But why?

The delay in combat encouraged Boomerang to charge at Diablo, a roar tearing from his lips.

Fortunately, this time, they had been ready.

Deadshot swiftly leapt out from beneath the table, tackling the legs out from beneath the Aussie. As they grappled for position, Deadshot deftly slammed a silver food platter over each of Boomerang’s hands.

“Diablo!” Deadshot ordered.

It was a weird ‘order’ but one worth the price.

As Deadshot took an elbow to the face, Diablo sent a bolt of flame over each metal platter, effectively welding Boomerang to the ground.

For a final touch, Deadshot picked up a third tray and batted Boomerang over the head with it, subduing the maniac, for now.

It had been one hell of a close fight.

As the team remained panting in various stages of recuperation, the radio crackled to life once more.

“Congratulations, squad” Waller bit out, “You have managed to pass the first trial”

Dabbing at his bloody eyebrow, Deadshot straightened to his full height, wandering lazily towards the camera, a hidden fork in his hand.

“D’ya remember that cliché sayin that bad guys always use?” Deadshot interrupted, casually; a lethal glare hidden behind his lofty tone.

For once, Waller did not respond.

Considering that the squad had just undergone a life and death ordeal, Deadshot allowed them a break and answered his own question.

“You know-” Deadshot encouraged, “-the ‘You’ll pay for this’ line?” he prompted.

Waller maintained her silence.

“…Yeah, well, consider yourself warned” Deadshot snapped, hurling the fork at the camera.

This time, the metal prong of the managed to pierce the lens of the camera with a shattering finality of sparks and raining glass.

What made the result more satisfying was the sound of Waller almost falling out of her chair as the projectile hit home and startled her.

Deadshot smirked, looking to his teammates for validation. Harley managed a shaky thumbs up while Croc spat out a tooth and Diablo rubbed his sore throat and signalled a smiley face of fire.

 _They were all in agreement,_ Deadshot affirmed, pleased.

The sound of a microphone uncoupling promptly led the team to assume that they were on their own. The sound of boots on concrete instantly dashed those thoughts.

_Waller had called the goons to collect the rebels. And her prized pet._

_Typical._

Deadshot rolled up his sleeves, wiping the constant excess of blood from his brow, with his sleeve.

_He didn’t care what happened now._

_Not much, anyway._

_As long as he went down swinging and landed a few hits before Waller got her hands on him, he would be content. If this was the beginning of the end, he was determined to make his mark._

Seeing that Deadshot had begun arming himself for battle, the squad picked themselves up, brushed themselves off and met at the door, under the assumption that fierce scowls, comradery, and cutlery might win them the fight.

Defiant against the obvious outcome, the squad readied themselves for round two.

So much for Flavoursome Friday’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review!


End file.
